Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears




Sometimes we will wake in world

We no longer recognise

And realise we must escape

Through the door they’ll never bar

Into fantasy worlds that we devise

To lick our wounds

Until we feel joy again

Leading Lady

Come be my leading lady

I’ve a one-off erotic drama

Improvised and unscripted

Created just for you

Don’t worry, I’ll direct things

No need to learn the words

Or justify your filthiness

I know what you can’t express

There’s no shame upon this stage

Turn your mind off, and just be

Nor any need for rolling cameras

My keen blue eyes see further

Than any lens of glass can see

Peering deep inside to glimpse

That secret side

You love to hide

Come star in my performance

I need only one

Be my focus of attention

Be the centre of the sun

I love playing

with that secret side of You

no one else knows


Ordinary decent citizens of the Real World

Tolerate poverty, pollution, wretched wars

And then call kinky sex… weird

The 12 Inspections of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

Naked. Kneeling. Bottom up, cheeks held apart.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

Naked, standing straight, elbows clasped behind my back.

With my clothes neatly folded in a pile at my feet.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

Naked but for a crotch rope, tugged tight against my cleft.

Tied to the bedframe, like a tethered animal.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

Cuffed naked to the four corners of my bed.

Squirming, seeping, aching to be read…

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love edged me.

Five. Tormenting. Times…

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

Naked as skillful fingertips tickled and teased my breasts.

Rolling and pinching, I obediently unflinching.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

Naked, as a firm hand gently cupped my crotch.

Just feeling the aching heat of my bare wet slit.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

As a treat, I got to don my school uniform.

My knickers were soaked when the time came to pull them down.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

I bent over naked, and touched my toes.

Clenching a hairbrush between my bottom cheeks.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

Naked in the dark, inquisitive fingers roaming.

Discovering my secrets, in the gloaming.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love inspected me.

I sat naked, ramrod straight, impaled upon a dildo chair.

Legs spread wide, bottom hole stretched and full.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love pleasured me.

Naked. No more secrets. All my pages read.

I came exhausted.

Spanked and fucked upon my bed.

Adrenaline Rush

I know the secret

I know why spanking thrills you so

I can feel it thrum against my fingertips

When I put you across my knee

And grip your flailing hand behind your back

I feel the echoes of your racing heart

Pulsing as I hold your wrist

Kicking feet primed to fight or flight

Liquid fire surging through your veins

Until you pant in ragged gasps

Yet, you could be in the bath right now

Soaking in a cosy foamy dream

In some soft focus cartoon of femininity

But I know how your body really works

There’s a time for nice, and a time for pain

A delicious throbbing kind of sore

Where each smack adds more powder to the keg

And polishes your lips to a glistening sheen

A disciplinarian understands the rush’s power

A naughty girl is made to wait for what she deserves

Marinating in the hormone of shame and dread

Anxiously maturing like the finest wine

Already imagining the first whacks across your bum

A thundering heart making your whole body glow

Until, at last, I pull your panties down

To reveal your shimmering silver flow

A hot palm rests

Upon your quivering cheeks

I know your secret

How spanking really turns you on

As an aside, recent research indicates adrenaline is fundamental to the female sexual response. This might seem obvious to those of us with a kinky disposition, but the prevailing medical wisdom has long been that female arousal was best achieved by “turn on, tune in, chill out”. But this belief seems to be based on cultural assumptions rather than physiological evidence, crass generalisations that define femininity in terms of soft focus romance, candles and whispers.

But if that were true, kinky individuals would be having the worst sex in the world. Because almost everything we do seems to be designed to set the heart thumping. Anticipation and foreshadowing, tying up, sensory denial, the infliction of pain, anal penetration, shame and humiliation – these are all activities that make palms sweat and pulses race.

That’s why your partner’s panties are soaked when she’s spent the whole day thinking about the spanking you promised her. That’s why her tummy flips when you pin her down or cuff her hands behind her back, as you’re denying her primal urge to flight. That’s why she comes so hard after her bottom has spanked until it’s hot and pink, and it doesn’t matter if you spanked her, or she spanked herself.

That’s why even just the thought of good hard spanking makes her wet. And that’s why these stories even exist at all.

Now, bend over, young lady.


Is your willpower


Than the feeble words

I whisper

Into your ear

Ever noticed how many of these poems seem to have been inspired by hot, steamy, summer days?

Links to erotic poems



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

I flex and swish the whippy rod

How funny it was once just a stem

One among millions in a jungle faraway

Forged by rays of a steamy sun

Nourished by deluges of savage storms

Yet somehow its destiny was to be cut

And lovingly fashioned into an implement

Of punishment and pleasure

You arch your back to receive my cane

Each sky-flash prompting me to swing

The whack still searing on your cheeks

As the thunder booms inside our skulls

And all around is pelted too

A chaos of tumultuous torrents reigns

Your bottom stings as nature bellows

Beauty’s gasp after thunder’s roar

Filigree forks of brilliant light

Giant cloudy lanterns glow

How strange to think

Your fate has been dictated by

Collisions of innumerable water drops

Clashing far above at dizzying heights

Til their tumult erupts in a sudden blaze

Setting fire to your behind

Come, nature girl

Let us dance beneath the soothing rain

Let us feel its cool caress

Let it soothe your aching flesh

Tiny streams trickle down your skin

Flowing to the valley between your mounds

There to mingle with your own sweet spring

From which, I very soon shall sup

True serenity is not silence

Under sunny skies

But the peace we find

Amid the storm

@spankingtheatre, summer 2016

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