Search

Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

Tag

I deserve a good spanking

The Pinch

An anonymous reader writes:

You, Sir, are deliciously wicked. You’ve outdone yourself. I’ve read and re-read your latest story; its imagery blazing through my mind.

Pulled panties. Such an easy pleasurable pain to enjoy anywhere…already I’ve found myself sneaking off to the lavatory, to gather my panties tight between my wet swollen lips, pulling them upward ever more tightly before fastening my pants and walking back to my desk.

Sitting just so in my chair: legs slightly further apart so that my pussy is more flush against the seat. Shifting my pelvis and slightly arching my back so that there is a constant pull of pressure on my panties…feeling the “pinch” against my clit and down around my bottom.

And now just the smallest of movement can shift the pressure. The more upright I sit, the greater the struggle to control myself from grinding slightly. But oh, how I so desperately want to grind. And so I do…just enough.

Just enough to bring that delicious edge. Just enough so that co-workers ask if I’m feeling well, as my face is lightly flushed. Just enough that I respectfully curse your name for inspiring such wanton workday antics!

You are, Sir, devilishly inspirational.


Thank you for your submission, dear reader. I like how you put it, panty pulling is indeed an easy, pleasurable pain that can be enjoyed anywhere. Your very own wicked erotic secret, concealed beneath your skirt or jeans. Perhaps reading the story of the Sit-Down Dance will inspire others to experiment, and experience the delight of The Pinch nipping against their own swollen clits…

My Sit-Down Dance Review

An anonymous reader writes:

I write face flushed, fingers trembling, breath heaving, slick cunt aching, and clit throbbing. I’m perched atop my own panty pulling chair, toes brushing against the floor, anticipation and just a hint of trepidation, making my tummy flip.

What better place to write a review of your story, typing out my own little essay after engaging in some scandalous little touches, my cunt wet, but not yet satisfied, making me desperate for any contact against my swollen little button. I wear a cheeky grin, delighting in my predicament.

Before I began reading the story I was forced to admit to that I had neglected to keep my mound bare and smooth. Swift punishment was required, and I took it upon myself. I spanked myself with my wooden ruler, 4 minutes over the corner of my bed, legs wide to show off my unkempt cunt as I whined into the pillows, hard whacks raining down. Sniffling, I shuffled into the bathroom to make myself smooth.

Then I read The Sit-Down Dance.

And now I’m going to write an essay, telling you what I thought of it. I’m going to write it whilst having my panties pulled, with a sore spanked bottom. I practically feel like I’m in the discipline room with Alice, Pansy, and Marian. I vaguely wondered what my own red bordered card would say.

My Name

Unkempt Cunt

or perhaps,

My Name

Lacks Self Discipline

There are so many possible ways I could find myself in the dreaded Punishment Room.

I’ve taken a picture of my panty-pulling chair… my red knickers tied to the back, which I’m about to put on. Notice the four pillows I’ll be pulling away during the course of my very own Sit-Down Dance, along with the ruler that’s already stung my bare bottom.

image

I’m grinning to myself again, thinking about my parallel to the story once more. Once my time in the chair is over, my panties too, are going to be pulled down. I’ll be scrutinized, my face will flush and I’ll feel embarrassed… and then I’ll be put to bed. Where it’s inevitable my clever fingers will wander once more, and I’ll come hard. With an aching stripe and a very sore bottom…


But first, my essay. I’m sitting on my chair, my panties tied to its back. I’ve set a timer, giving myself the same
thirty minutes the other girls received. Then, with a cocky little toss
of my long tresses over my shoulder, I remove the first pillow, and
begin my essay in earnest…

This first part of the story ended up being better than I could have possibly imagined. It gave me all the naughty thrills I was hoping for… and more. I was so so curious how this story was going to be told. There were hints and clues you left, but every bit of this story was a thrilling, engaging surprise.

I decided I was in the mood to be a little scandalous, and curled up in bed naked to read this story. Bare slit caressed by the soft satin of my sheets. Sore bottom pressed firmly on my mattress. A lingering reminder of my naughtiness.

Immediately my interest was piqued at the mention of the red bordered cards, and the sit down dance. I’m quite familiar with the “bend over dance”, so this was something new I was quite eager to read more about.

I read with rapt attention as Alice described the Punishment Room. I almost forget about the delicious sensations I was feeling beneath my sheets. I was drinking in the details of the room… large, intimidating, yet intimate… the turgid emotions invoked filling the space, making the room feel small. I imagined it would feel as if one would be unable to keep any secrets hidden for long.

I found myself intrigued by the other two girls in the room, curiosity building at their misdemeanors.. Hoping I’d learn more about how they earned the labels on their cards. My experienced fingers slipped beneath my sheets, and slid slowly against my skin, leaving electric little tingles in their wake.

I’m so naughty. I deserve to lose another pillow.

I felt my cheeks color at the mention that no girls could leave the punishment room, not even to relieve themselves. I felt the heady mix of shame and arousal at the thought of begging for permission to go.. even if it meant I’d have to do it in front of everyone. My fingers slipped lower, and I read on.

As the headmistress began the punishment, I couldn’t help but start to rub. The comments she made, subtle jabs at the girls and their misbehavior, had me squirming. I imagined myself in their place. The shame and undeniable arousal pooling between my legs, as my panties were pulled down and I was chided. My breath caught in my throat as I read the words “discipline makes girls wet”. I rubbed a little more urgently, my fingers coated with my arousal. From personal experiences, I have to agree.

I forced myself to slow my rubbing and read on, bent on riding the edge, and not tumbling into bliss quite yet. The description of the whacks of each girl made me moan. I found myself spreading my legs wider, now slipping a finger inside. I thrust my fingers inside of myself as I read about the bench… and the nefarious lever.

I writhed on my back, appreciating the ingenuity of this particular instrument of correction. I imagined the inevitable pull. The agonizing slow tilt, the building pressure, the futile little kicks of dangling feet, dancing on air, hoping for relief as the thin stripe burns hotly between legs. What delicious imagery. I wanted to come, oh I wanted to rub my clit until I came hard against my fingers, panting and satisfied. But it wasn’t time… not yet.

My third pillow falls to the ground. My own feet are dangling now. It feels so sore, but so, so good.

Actually getting to read the essays written by the girls was an unexpected treat. And I loved it. As much as I enjoyed reading everything prior, I think the little essays of confession, and the headmistress’s reactions to them, were my favorite part. Gleaning insight into each character. Each essay written in a slightly different style, the characters’ voices began to come alive in my mind.

At this point, I couldn’t stop squirming, my clit throbbed insistently between my legs, begging for attention as I read through the thoughts of each naughty girl. Interested in Pansy’s contrite words, intrigued by Marian’s secret desires, and then Alice. Oh Alice. A smirk formed as I read her cheeky, mocking words. They got me wet. I was utterly soaking. The scenarios, and naughty words made me groan and blush, and plead to the empty room to be allowed to come. I found myself adoring her willfulness. Even after it all, she remained bold. I found myself yearning to know how the headmistress would react. A tantalizing battle of wills, disciplinarian and willful brat. I’m aching to know more…

This has taken me much more than 30 minutes to write. I found myself distracted by the insistent aching between my legs. I couldn’t stop whining and moving, desperate for release. Imagining I was feeling exactly what the girls were feeling. Desperately typing as I my last pillow and my panties were pulled painfully tight. It felt incredible. It was true immersion into the story, and I have loved every single minute of it. The agony of being allowed to touch, but not to tip over while reading your vivid, captivating words… and then the agony of my panties being pulled as I wrote my own confessions… I’m actually having trouble fully articulating how much I enjoyed this naughty activity.

And now, it’s time for me to release myself from my terrible chair, and pull down my panties to reveal my little red stripe. I can feel my cheeks heating up once more… embarrassed to be exposed. But so, so eager for what happens after. I think I’m going to read Alice’s confession again. And come hard as I read her willful, brazen words.

Thank you for such an incredible beginning to an assuredly satisfying and salacious tale!

And thank you for inspiring such a fun, scandalous activity, Sir! I enjoyed it so, so much 🙂


Thank you, dear reader, for your wonderful write-up! It’s always delightful to hear how these stories are enjoyed, and your use of the panty-pulling chair must have made this particularly immersive! And you will enjoy the finale, believe me.

I wonder if other readers have done their very own Sit-Down Dance?

My Sit-Down Dance Review

An anonymous reader writes:

I write face flushed, fingers trembling, breath heaving, slick cunt aching, and clit throbbing. I’m perched atop my own panty pulling chair, toes brushing against the floor, anticipation and just a hint of trepidation, making my tummy flip.

What better place to write a review of your story, typing out my own little essay after engaging in some scandalous little touches, my cunt wet, but not yet satisfied, making me desperate for any contact against my swollen little button. I wear a cheeky grin, delighting in my predicament.

Before I began reading the story I was forced to admit to that I had neglected to keep my mound bare and smooth. Swift punishment was required, and I took it upon myself. I spanked myself with my wooden ruler, 4 minutes over the corner of my bed, legs wide to show off my unkempt cunt as I whined into the pillows, hard whacks raining down. Sniffling, I shuffled into the bathroom to make myself smooth.

Then I read The Sit-Down Dance.

And now I’m going to write an essay, telling you what I thought of it. I’m going to write it whilst having my panties pulled, with a sore spanked bottom. I practically feel like I’m in the discipline room with Alice, Pansy, and Marian. I vaguely wondered what my own red bordered card would say.

My Name

Unkempt Cunt

or perhaps,

My Name

Lacks Self Discipline

There are so many possible ways I could find myself in the dreaded Punishment Room.

I’ve taken a picture of my panty-pulling chair… my red knickers tied to the back, which I’m about to put on. Notice the four pillows I’ll be pulling away during the course of my very own Sit-Down Dance, along with the ruler that’s already stung my bare bottom.

image

I’m grinning to myself again, thinking about my parallel to the story once more. Once my time in the chair is over, my panties too, are going to be pulled down. I’ll be scrutinized, my face will flush and I’ll feel embarrassed… and then I’ll be put to bed. Where it’s inevitable my clever fingers will wander once more, and I’ll come hard. With an aching stripe and a very sore bottom…


But first, my essay. I’m sitting on my chair, my panties tied to its back. I’ve set a timer, giving myself the same
thirty minutes the other girls received. Then, with a cocky little toss
of my long tresses over my shoulder, I remove the first pillow, and
begin my essay in earnest…

This first part of the story ended up being better than I could have possibly imagined. It gave me all the naughty thrills I was hoping for… and more. I was so so curious how this story was going to be told. There were hints and clues you left, but every bit of this story was a thrilling, engaging surprise.

I decided I was in the mood to be a little scandalous, and curled up in bed naked to read this story. Bare slit caressed by the soft satin of my sheets. Sore bottom pressed firmly on my mattress. A lingering reminder of my naughtiness.

Immediately my interest was piqued at the mention of the red bordered cards, and the sit down dance. I’m quite familiar with the “bend over dance”, so this was something new I was quite eager to read more about.

I read with rapt attention as Alice described the Punishment Room. I almost forget about the delicious sensations I was feeling beneath my sheets. I was drinking in the details of the room… large, intimidating, yet intimate… the turgid emotions invoked filling the space, making the room feel small. I imagined it would feel as if one would be unable to keep any secrets hidden for long.

I found myself intrigued by the other two girls in the room, curiosity building at their misdemeanors.. Hoping I’d learn more about how they earned the labels on their cards. My experienced fingers slipped beneath my sheets, and slid slowly against my skin, leaving electric little tingles in their wake.

I’m so naughty. I deserve to lose another pillow.

I felt my cheeks color at the mention that no girls could leave the punishment room, not even to relieve themselves. I felt the heady mix of shame and arousal at the thought of begging for permission to go.. even if it meant I’d have to do it in front of everyone. My fingers slipped lower, and I read on.

As the headmistress began the punishment, I couldn’t help but start to rub. The comments she made, subtle jabs at the girls and their misbehavior, had me squirming. I imagined myself in their place. The shame and undeniable arousal pooling between my legs, as my panties were pulled down and I was chided. My breath caught in my throat as I read the words “discipline makes girls wet”. I rubbed a little more urgently, my fingers coated with my arousal. From personal experiences, I have to agree.

I forced myself to slow my rubbing and read on, bent on riding the edge, and not tumbling into bliss quite yet. The description of the whacks of each girl made me moan. I found myself spreading my legs wider, now slipping a finger inside. I thrust my fingers inside of myself as I read about the bench… and the nefarious lever.

I writhed on my back, appreciating the ingenuity of this particular instrument of correction. I imagined the inevitable pull. The agonizing slow tilt, the building pressure, the futile little kicks of dangling feet, dancing on air, hoping for relief as the thin stripe burns hotly between legs. What delicious imagery. I wanted to come, oh I wanted to rub my clit until I came hard against my fingers, panting and satisfied. But it wasn’t time… not yet.

My third pillow falls to the ground. My own feet are dangling now. It feels so sore, but so, so good.

Actually getting to read the essays written by the girls was an unexpected treat. And I loved it. As much as I enjoyed reading everything prior, I think the little essays of confession, and the headmistress’s reactions to them, were my favorite part. Gleaning insight into each character. Each essay written in a slightly different style, the characters’ voices began to come alive in my mind.

At this point, I couldn’t stop squirming, my clit throbbed insistently between my legs, begging for attention as I read through the thoughts of each naughty girl. Interested in Pansy’s contrite words, intrigued by Marian’s secret desires, and then Alice. Oh Alice. A smirk formed as I read her cheeky, mocking words. They got me wet. I was utterly soaking. The scenarios, and naughty words made me groan and blush, and plead to the empty room to be allowed to come. I found myself adoring her willfulness. Even after it all, she remained bold. I found myself yearning to know how the headmistress would react. A tantalizing battle of wills, disciplinarian and willful brat. I’m aching to know more…

This has taken me much more than 30 minutes to write. I found myself distracted by the insistent aching between my legs. I couldn’t stop whining and moving, desperate for release. Imagining I was feeling exactly what the girls were feeling. Desperately typing as I my last pillow and my panties were pulled painfully tight. It felt incredible. It was true immersion into the story, and I have loved every single minute of it. The agony of being allowed to touch, but not to tip over while reading your vivid, captivating words… and then the agony of my panties being pulled as I wrote my own confessions… I’m actually having trouble fully articulating how much I enjoyed this naughty activity.

And now, it’s time for me to release myself from my terrible chair, and pull down my panties to reveal my little red stripe. I can feel my cheeks heating up once more… embarrassed to be exposed. But so, so eager for what happens after. I think I’m going to read Alice’s confession again. And come hard as I read her willful, brazen words.

Thank you for such an incredible beginning to an assuredly satisfying and salacious tale!

And thank you for inspiring such a fun, scandalous activity, Sir! I enjoyed it so, so much 🙂


Thank you, dear reader, for your wonderful write-up! It’s always delightful to hear how these stories are enjoyed, and your use of the panty-pulling chair must have made this particularly immersive! And you will enjoy the finale, believe me.

I wonder if other readers have done their very own Sit-Down Dance?

My Amazing Panty Pulling Chair

An anonymous reader writes:

I created my very own panty-pulling chair, and I have to say, it was amazing!

We have some old wooden chairs in our home, which have varying heights of seat backs (low to high). I used string to attach my panties after I had attached them to the back of the chair and positioned myself on several large pillows.

With my free hand, I began reading one story at a time, and after finishing every erotic short story a pillow would come out and I would see how wet I was, and then I would play with myself.

I wanted to edge myself into madness, which worked so well that when I got down to the very last pillow my panties were completely soaked and I was uncontrollably squirming for release.

Releasing the final pillow, my panties pulled so tightly, I had planned to play with myself while reading one more short story. However I didn’t reach more than a paragraph in before I’d climaxed so greatly a puddle formed round my feet.

It was the best experience I’ve ever had playing with myself, thanks to your idea!


Thank you for this wonderful account!

Everyone should try reading some stories whilst squirming deliriously on their very own Panty Pulling Chair!

Don’t you think?

My Amazing Panty Pulling Chair

An anonymous reader writes:

I created my very own panty-pulling chair, and I have to say, it was amazing!

We have some old wooden chairs in our home, which have varying heights of seat backs (low to high). I used string to attach my panties after I had attached them to the back of the chair and positioned myself on several large pillows.

With my free hand, I began reading one story at a time, and after finishing every erotic short story a pillow would come out and I would see how wet I was, and then I would play with myself.

I wanted to edge myself into madness, which worked so well that when I got down to the very last pillow my panties were completely soaked and I was uncontrollably squirming for release.

Releasing the final pillow, my panties pulled so tightly, I had planned to play with myself while reading one more short story. However I didn’t reach more than a paragraph in before I’d climaxed so greatly a puddle formed round my feet.

It was the best experience I’ve ever had playing with myself, thanks to your idea!


Thank you for this wonderful account!

Everyone should try reading some stories whilst squirming deliriously on their very own Panty Pulling Chair!

Don’t you think?

Pleasure and Nostalgia

This wonderful reader-submitted review contains mild spoilers, so if you haven’t yet read the finale of the story, best do that first!

An anonymous reader writes:

I’ve been toying with the idea of what I wanted to write about Coming of Age since this morning. I feel like there is so much to say, so many parts of this story left a lingering impact, particularly the closing chapter. There were times I found myself laughing, charmed by the teasing banter. There were times an overwhelming sense of nostalgia was brought on as the words of this story reminded me of memories of the past long gone. And then there were the times I found myself squirming… my inquisitive fingers aching to slip beneath my sheets… needing to soothe the burning arousal flaring between my legs.

I think perhaps this is one of the stories of yours I’ve identified with the most, Mr. Spankingtheatre. Not necessarily with the specific direction of the beginning chapters – where the main character gleaned much of his sexual education, but I was able to draw parallels consistently. My interest was piqued throughout the entire tale. And once the first chapter was over, I found myself yearning for the next part of the story. Just barely able to contain my need to know what happens next.

I was surprised and utterly delighted by where the story had ended up. The use of different perspectives in the narrative thoroughly immersed me in the story. I was lost in the words of this world you had created. Somehow, you painted naughty and sometimes touching images in my mind.

Once I learned the final chapter was coming out, I started to fantasize just where the story may go. Admittedly, my little musings didn’t at all match what happened, which I think made it all the more delightful to read. I was continually surprised and intrigued to see what would happen next.

It had been awhile since I read the beginning chapters, so I thought I would tease myself. Let the anticipation build before seeing where the character’s story ended. I made myself read both chapters one and two before reading chapter three. It made for a tantalizing evening of fun.. scandalous little touches.. and of course an orgasm..or two.. Okay, okay. There were three.

Shall I walk you through some of the parts that resonated with me the most?

In the first chapter, the main character’s first introduction to spanking, and specifically the cane made my breath catch in my throat. My lips were parted, and I eagerly drank in the words fantasizing about how it would feel to be in his place, and remembering just what my first spanking felt like at the direction of my disciplinarian. The rich description of his pleading.. Miss Snow’s stern reprimand. And then the kiss of the cane.

I couldn’t help but rub rough little circles around my clit as I read about this caning. I danced on my fingers beneath my sheets as I ached and let little moans fall past my lips. I found myself yearning to be disciplined at the experienced hands of Miss Snow. I imagined myself pink faced, embarrassed as I pulled down my panties to expose my bottom for her scrutiny. How I would struggle to understand her cryptic instructions about “proper posture”, “proper gratitude” and lastly “acceptance”. I could imagine the lovely noise I’d make as I felt each strike. Each searing stroke. Oh, how I wanted it.

I groaned at the start of the second chapter. Miss Snow’s declaration that there would be no masturbation without her explicit permission. My little slit was slick with arousal as I thought about what a struggle that would be. A struggle I’ve experienced first hand… A rule admittedly I break fairly regularly. Sometimes it’s just so hard to resist, Mr. Spankingtheatre. I’m sure you understand. The trouble I have gotten into is partially your fault you know, you and your salacious writing! 😉

I sympathized with the main character’s struggle, while a devilish little grin spread across my face and my fingers slipped between my legs once more. It felt both naughty, and intensely gratifying.

I was intrigued by the frank questions the headmistress asked the main character. Candidly discussing such private matters… fantasies… desires… even how often he touched himself. I found myself blushing on his behalf. Suddenly thinking of how I felt when I had been asked similar questions. Little confessions and secrets pulled past my lips. I squirmed feeling both shy and immensely turned on. And then, his time with the headmistress had come to an end. I could almost feel the same sense of gratitude to her, and sadness at the closing of one of life’s chapters. I really enjoyed the mixture of emotions invoked.

And then… the third chapter. I was utterly delighted when I found out the person he was telling his story to in the beginning of the first two installments was this same girl the entire time! I think I may have actually internally squealed. I can’t believe I just admitted that.

I drank in their story together eagerly. Giggling at their teasing, coy flirtations. I was rooting for them! And then there was this particular scene. The scene on the train. Oh the scene on the train. When he removed her panties right there in the car, I felt myself clench. I was so wet. Utterly soaking. His stern commands.. brokering no argument. Saying she knew what happened to naughty girls.

I squirmed on my back. Fingers desperately seeking my throbbing little button once more. I curiously wondered what I would do if I was told to remove my dress and bra in the lavatory with the door unlocked. My face flushed..and I decided right then and there this was something I wanted to try.

And then the spanking in the bathroom. Being pressed against the wall. Nowhere to run, nowhere to dash away.. just having to stand there and take what he gave her. My breathing was ragged, chest heaving as I touched and moaned along with the story. I wanted to do this. Oh, can you even imagine? It was such an incredible scene. Caressing me in all the right places.

The ending was incredible. I felt like it was almost like an open door. Left up to the reader’s interpretation. Did they ever meet again? Or did life get in the way? Do they often think back on their adventure together?

I’d like to think they did meet again… and even if they didn’t end up together, they could fondly reminisce about the extraordinary adventure they shared… and how it shaped them. Forever.

This has become a little more lengthy than I had intended… So in short, let me say this: I truly loved this story. Thank you for writing it. Thank you for sharing it. And thank you for giving us readers something equal parts pleasure and equal parts lovely wistful nostalgia of our own coming of age tales.


Thank you for this wonderful submission! If other readers would like to contribute reviews of their own favourite stories, I’d love to read them. Either post them on your own blog and mention @spankingtheatre or submit them for me to post here.

Pleasure and Nostalgia

This wonderful reader-submitted review contains mild spoilers, so if you haven’t yet read the finale of the story, best do that first!

An anonymous reader writes:

I’ve been toying with the idea of what I wanted to write about Coming of Age since this morning. I feel like there is so much to say, so many parts of this story left a lingering impact, particularly the closing chapter. There were times I found myself laughing, charmed by the teasing banter. There were times an overwhelming sense of nostalgia was brought on as the words of this story reminded me of memories of the past long gone. And then there were the times I found myself squirming… my inquisitive fingers aching to slip beneath my sheets… needing to soothe the burning arousal flaring between my legs.

I think perhaps this is one of the stories of yours I’ve identified with the most, Mr. Spankingtheatre. Not necessarily with the specific direction of the beginning chapters – where the main character gleaned much of his sexual education, but I was able to draw parallels consistently. My interest was piqued throughout the entire tale. And once the first chapter was over, I found myself yearning for the next part of the story. Just barely able to contain my need to know what happens next.

I was surprised and utterly delighted by where the story had ended up. The use of different perspectives in the narrative thoroughly immersed me in the story. I was lost in the words of this world you had created. Somehow, you painted naughty and sometimes touching images in my mind.

Once I learned the final chapter was coming out, I started to fantasize just where the story may go. Admittedly, my little musings didn’t at all match what happened, which I think made it all the more delightful to read. I was continually surprised and intrigued to see what would happen next.

It had been awhile since I read the beginning chapters, so I thought I would tease myself. Let the anticipation build before seeing where the character’s story ended. I made myself read both chapters one and two before reading chapter three. It made for a tantalizing evening of fun.. scandalous little touches.. and of course an orgasm..or two.. Okay, okay. There were three.

Shall I walk you through some of the parts that resonated with me the most?

In the first chapter, the main character’s first introduction to spanking, and specifically the cane made my breath catch in my throat. My lips were parted, and I eagerly drank in the words fantasizing about how it would feel to be in his place, and remembering just what my first spanking felt like at the direction of my disciplinarian. The rich description of his pleading.. Miss Snow’s stern reprimand. And then the kiss of the cane.

I couldn’t help but rub rough little circles around my clit as I read about this caning. I danced on my fingers beneath my sheets as I ached and let little moans fall past my lips. I found myself yearning to be disciplined at the experienced hands of Miss Snow. I imagined myself pink faced, embarrassed as I pulled down my panties to expose my bottom for her scrutiny. How I would struggle to understand her cryptic instructions about “proper posture”, “proper gratitude” and lastly “acceptance”. I could imagine the lovely noise I’d make as I felt each strike. Each searing stroke. Oh, how I wanted it.

I groaned at the start of the second chapter. Miss Snow’s declaration that there would be no masturbation without her explicit permission. My little slit was slick with arousal as I thought about what a struggle that would be. A struggle I’ve experienced first hand… A rule admittedly I break fairly regularly. Sometimes it’s just so hard to resist, Mr. Spankingtheatre. I’m sure you understand. The trouble I have gotten into is partially your fault you know, you and your salacious writing! 😉

I sympathized with the main character’s struggle, while a devilish little grin spread across my face and my fingers slipped between my legs once more. It felt both naughty, and intensely gratifying.

I was intrigued by the frank questions the headmistress asked the main character. Candidly discussing such private matters… fantasies… desires… even how often he touched himself. I found myself blushing on his behalf. Suddenly thinking of how I felt when I had been asked similar questions. Little confessions and secrets pulled past my lips. I squirmed feeling both shy and immensely turned on. And then, his time with the headmistress had come to an end. I could almost feel the same sense of gratitude to her, and sadness at the closing of one of life’s chapters. I really enjoyed the mixture of emotions invoked.

And then… the third chapter. I was utterly delighted when I found out the person he was telling his story to in the beginning of the first two installments was this same girl the entire time! I think I may have actually internally squealed. I can’t believe I just admitted that.

I drank in their story together eagerly. Giggling at their teasing, coy flirtations. I was rooting for them! And then there was this particular scene. The scene on the train. Oh the scene on the train. When he removed her panties right there in the car, I felt myself clench. I was so wet. Utterly soaking. His stern commands.. brokering no argument. Saying she knew what happened to naughty girls.

I squirmed on my back. Fingers desperately seeking my throbbing little button once more. I curiously wondered what I would do if I was told to remove my dress and bra in the lavatory with the door unlocked. My face flushed..and I decided right then and there this was something I wanted to try.

And then the spanking in the bathroom. Being pressed against the wall. Nowhere to run, nowhere to dash away.. just having to stand there and take what he gave her. My breathing was ragged, chest heaving as I touched and moaned along with the story. I wanted to do this. Oh, can you even imagine? It was such an incredible scene. Caressing me in all the right places.

The ending was incredible. I felt like it was almost like an open door. Left up to the reader’s interpretation. Did they ever meet again? Or did life get in the way? Do they often think back on their adventure together?

I’d like to think they did meet again… and even if they didn’t end up together, they could fondly reminisce about the extraordinary adventure they shared… and how it shaped them. Forever.

This has become a little more lengthy than I had intended… So in short, let me say this: I truly loved this story. Thank you for writing it. Thank you for sharing it. And thank you for giving us readers something equal parts pleasure and equal parts lovely wistful nostalgia of our own coming of age tales.


Thank you for this wonderful submission! If other readers would like to contribute reviews of their own favourite stories, I’d love to read them. Either post them on your own blog and mention @spankingtheatre or submit them for me to post here.

Spanking Relics

@predilectionforblasphemy writes:

On the last weekend I visited the History Museum of… X city, one of the hundreds of ancient European cities, filled with ghosts of the past. The museum was located on a big, bustling street of a modern metropolis, but the moment I entered the galleries I was transferred to previous centuries. My visit was going on as usual – Roman relics, first cathedral, first king, change of ruling dynasties, plagues, religious wars, industrialisation, and dramatic social upheaval of the 20th century. All was interesting, educating, and thoroughly decent. I didn’t expect anything that would particularly draw my attention. I was wrong.

In the gallery dedicated to the women’s life at the turn of the 20th century a pair of knickers was exhibited. I noticed them at the very entrance but didn’t approach too fast, thinking that a museum attendant would notice my strange interest in this ordinary subject. Gradually I was coming closer, glancing at various fans, stockings, powder and perfume boxes – property of the ladies who had been dead for a long time by now. Finally I came near the knickers. Trying to look as casually as one can when looking at someone’s underwear, I tried to catch a glimpse of the knickers’ back side. Unfortunately, the knickers were located against the wall and it was impossible to find out whether they had this lovely split on bottom part no matter how hard I tried.

“Female bloomers made of cotton with lace adornments, late 19th century” – informed the label. “Isn’t it a very short and abrupt information?” – I wondered, – “Wouldn’t it be more enriching for visitors if they could find out who the owner was, and what functions the knickers had had at that time apart from hygienic?” My mind and my fantasy immersed me into the world of a young upper-class lady of 18… I was imagining how her maid would help her step into these knickers in the morning, how she would lace them, inevitably catching a glimpse of her mistress’s pink buttocks.

Another text for the label came to my mind: “Female bloomers worn by a naughty young lady in a time period 1886 – 1888 for bare bottom spanking sessions”. If I was a museum curator, I would enrich this gallery with a wide exhibition of objects essential in each girl’s life back then – with paddles and canes, birch and belts, spanking chairs, and secret diaries full with detailed descriptions of daily punishments. And in the centre of the room would be a pair of knickers, fully exposed, so that everyone could have a long piercing look at the bottom split area.

I had been gazing upon the knickers for so long that it was by now obvious that for me it was not simply a piece of undergarments. I felt my intimate parts becoming swollen and aching for attention. As usual when thinking about spanking I started to feel the inherent desire to stick out my own bottom so that a stern museum attendant could use all her knowledge of women’s life at the turn of the 20th century and properly punish me for my salacious thoughts.

Or would it be better to suddenly realize that I am not the only one who is eyeing these knickers? A man or a woman in their forties, elegantly dressed and looking strict and demanding, would approach me from behind and whisper in my ear: “Well, well, well, young lady, aren’t you too interested in this prosaic piece of clothes?”

I would probably be embarrassed and wouldn’t know what to say and then my incidental acquaintance would lean towards me so that I could feel the musky scent of their cologne and say: “Do you think it is not evident that you are staring at these knickers with dirty thoughts on your mind? Do you think that living in the 21st century will spare you the punishment? Times can’t be too modern and progressive for a good old bare bottom spanking!”

And after these words I would obediently follow them to the one of the museum’s back rooms, pull down my small panties – nothing in comparison to the exhibited knickers – and give my bottom into the hands of a professional.

“I think it’s time to make your bottom cheeks as red as your face cheeks.” – I whispered barely audible to myself. But I still wonder – did anybody hear?


Thank you for this wonderful submission! It reminded me of the start of my story Lupercalia, stumbling upon ancient relics with kinky secrets. If you attune your mind and engage your imagination, it is possible to wander through a museum and still be able to hear the erotic echoes of the past. How appropriate, given the Ides of February are almost upon us…

Spanking Relics

@predilectionforblasphemy writes:

On the last weekend I visited the History Museum of… X city, one of the hundreds of ancient European cities, filled with ghosts of the past. The museum was located on a big, bustling street of a modern metropolis, but the moment I entered the galleries I was transferred to previous centuries. My visit was going on as usual – Roman relics, first cathedral, first king, change of ruling dynasties, plagues, religious wars, industrialisation, and dramatic social upheaval of the 20th century. All was interesting, educating, and thoroughly decent. I didn’t expect anything that would particularly draw my attention. I was wrong.

In the gallery dedicated to the women’s life at the turn of the 20th century a pair of knickers was exhibited. I noticed them at the very entrance but didn’t approach too fast, thinking that a museum attendant would notice my strange interest in this ordinary subject. Gradually I was coming closer, glancing at various fans, stockings, powder and perfume boxes – property of the ladies who had been dead for a long time by now. Finally I came near the knickers. Trying to look as casually as one can when looking at someone’s underwear, I tried to catch a glimpse of the knickers’ back side. Unfortunately, the knickers were located against the wall and it was impossible to find out whether they had this lovely split on bottom part no matter how hard I tried.

“Female bloomers made of cotton with lace adornments, late 19th century” – informed the label. “Isn’t it a very short and abrupt information?” – I wondered, – “Wouldn’t it be more enriching for visitors if they could find out who the owner was, and what functions the knickers had had at that time apart from hygienic?” My mind and my fantasy immersed me into the world of a young upper-class lady of 18… I was imagining how her maid would help her step into these knickers in the morning, how she would lace them, inevitably catching a glimpse of her mistress’s pink buttocks.

Another text for the label came to my mind: “Female bloomers worn by a naughty young lady in a time period 1886 – 1888 for bare bottom spanking sessions”. If I was a museum curator, I would enrich this gallery with a wide exhibition of objects essential in each girl’s life back then – with paddles and canes, birch and belts, spanking chairs, and secret diaries full with detailed descriptions of daily punishments. And in the centre of the room would be a pair of knickers, fully exposed, so that everyone could have a long piercing look at the bottom split area.

I had been gazing upon the knickers for so long that it was by now obvious that for me it was not simply a piece of undergarments. I felt my intimate parts becoming swollen and aching for attention. As usual when thinking about spanking I started to feel the inherent desire to stick out my own bottom so that a stern museum attendant could use all her knowledge of women’s life at the turn of the 20th century and properly punish me for my salacious thoughts.

Or would it be better to suddenly realize that I am not the only one who is eyeing these knickers? A man or a woman in their forties, elegantly dressed and looking strict and demanding, would approach me from behind and whisper in my ear: “Well, well, well, young lady, aren’t you too interested in this prosaic piece of clothes?”

I would probably be embarrassed and wouldn’t know what to say and then my incidental acquaintance would lean towards me so that I could feel the musky scent of their cologne and say: “Do you think it is not evident that you are staring at these knickers with dirty thoughts on your mind? Do you think that living in the 21st century will spare you the punishment? Times can’t be too modern and progressive for a good old bare bottom spanking!”

And after these words I would obediently follow them to the one of the museum’s back rooms, pull down my small panties – nothing in comparison to the exhibited knickers – and give my bottom into the hands of a professional.

“I think it’s time to make your bottom cheeks as red as your face cheeks.” – I whispered barely audible to myself. But I still wonder – did anybody hear?


Thank you for this wonderful submission! It reminded me of the start of my story Lupercalia, stumbling upon ancient relics with kinky secrets. If you attune your mind and engage your imagination, it is possible to wander through a museum and still be able to hear the erotic echoes of the past. How appropriate, given the Ides of February are almost upon us…

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑