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Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

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punishment

What new ways can I make myself feel humiliated when I punish myself in private?

There’s more than a dozen ideas in this post:

https://spankingtheatre.tumblr.com/post/167710724430/ideas-for-humiliating-cornertime

Experiment and discover what you find most humiliating.

It might be sitting on the toilet and wetting your panties.

It might be the shame of wearing punishment panties.

It might be forcing yourself to go out in public just after a spanking, whilst your bottom is still hot, stinging and sore, and your slit is sticky and soaking wet. Your cheeks will blush as you interact with strangers, as you wonder whether they suspect your shameful secret, the spanked pink bottom hidden just beneath your clothes.

Or it might just be the shame of accountability, sitting on your spanked bottom, having to send a message to your disciplinarian describing how and why you’ve just been punished…

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…

If it’s a discord group chat we’re talkin’ about, there could be a channel for confessions and a channel for punished behinds 🤔😏

I like your thinking.

In fact, maybe there’ll be two channels for those who deserve to get their bottoms spanked.

#study for punishments I conduct in private.

And #classroom for those who need to be punished in front of the class.

And come to think of it, I think #punishmentroom should exist as well, with several panty-pulling chairs awaiting the visit of those sentenced to do the sit-down dance

I enjoy self-punishment… things that I can do by myself that inflict pain and/or embarrassment. I’ve re-created the ‘punishment panties,’ as well as parts of the story ‘coming of age’. Self-spanking isn’t great for me, I need something that I don’t have to be administering the whole time. The punishment panties were great for this. I’m looking for more methods of self-punishment similar to this. Any suggestions? I’m a male.

I wrote a post a while back with some ideas for discreet public embarrassments.

And another post about ideas for humiliating self-punishments in private.

I think any good governess who was too busy to spank a wayward boy would probably produce a nice big butt plug and stretch the naughty boy’s bottom.

The plug would be likely be lubricated by something designed for the recipient’s discomfort, such as Icy Hot, Deep Heat, chilli oil or ginger paste.

She might even decide a good figging was required, with his underpants and trousers pulled up afterwards. With a belt tied around the waist to ensure no interference. After a couple of hours the naughty boy would be begging to have his shorts pulled down, begging for a thorough bottom inspection.

Just imagine what your imaginary disciplinarian would do…

I was trying to edge myself for awhile but not cum but accidentally went too far and make myself cum. I don’t have a master, but this can’t go unpunished or I’d never learn so what better place to turn to for someone to give me a punishment for my naughty behavior than here, so if you’re willing I’ll let you decide my fate and confess again when it’s done (I don’t think just edging some more and not coming for some time will be enough…)

A naughty girl who comes without permission forfeits the privilege of touching her slit.

Say that aloud, ten times.

Every day for a week, you will kneel in front of a mirror, and recite your punishment statement, slowly and clearly, until your cheeks flush, and burn with embarrassment.

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, maintain a document in something like Google Docs. After reciting your lines, write a new paragraph that states whether you obeyed the rules of your punishment during the last 24 hours, and refrained from touching. There should also be brief description of how you’re finding your period of abstinence, and a thank you to show you appreciate the disciplinary regime to which you’re subject.

Then once your week has been served, you may send me your confession.

I do hope you’ll learn your lesson.

Because next time, it will be a fortnight.

Hello i have something to confess to you. for the last few weeks ive been re-reading your stories as i pleasure myself then leaving them open on my computer hoping my girlfriend will find them and think i deserve the same as the poor young lady whos pain i enjoyed reading about. maybe when i get home this afternoon there will a pair of punishment panties waiting on a chair for me. all i really want is to lie on my tummy with a sore bright red bottom and mascara on my cheeks. your reader Marte.

It seems it isn’t just a bright red bottom and mascara-streaked cheeks that you crave, it’s getting caught. So, perhaps it’s time to lay a trail of clues, slowly escalating your jeopardy, until being discovered is inevitable.

Step 1 of getting caught, leaving stories open to be found, but that’s quite subtle and easily overlooked.

Step 2 might be to put a post-it note on the page of a dictionary that contains the definition of “spank”. You could write the url of this site on the note, and see if she notices you name on this post.

Step 3 might be sending her links to your favourite spanking stories, and innocently commenting: “you might like this”. Whilst you’re wearing punishment panties pulled up tight.

Step 4 might be pleasuring yourself whilst she’s nearby, where there’s a risk of her walking in and catching you.

Step 5 is sending her a full and frank confession, as described in this post.

Escalate slowly, keep dropping clues, and you won’t have to wait long for the sore red bottom you crave…

I’m the one who said I’ve never gotten a real spanking. I’m really craving punishment now… Help! I don’t like spanking myself.

If you’re craving a spanking, but are without anyone to administer it, the ideal solution is to be bold, and begin a quest for a disciplinarian of your own.

But that might take a while to build the necessary trust. In the meantime, you’ll have to be creative.

Try immersing yourself in a fantasy of your own construction, perhaps this will involve reading a spanking story, or writing down a fantasy of your own. Make it as detailed as possible, dress up if you can, sit on your bare bottom and imagine what’s in store for you.

You don’t need to spank yourself, of course, not unless you absolutely need to feel your bottom sting. Play as far as you want to play.

And who knows, maybe there’s a strict spanker out there for you, just waiting for a knock on their office door.

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…

Sir gave me my first actual spanking today. All others were just for kinkiness. I should have known better than to be a naughty girl and tease him that he couldnt spank me. I fully admit that I deserved the punishment and to have my bare bum spanked.

I find requiring naughty girls to publicly announce their spankings to be a very effective means of discipline.

A good hard spanking on the bare should always have public consequences. That’s why you’re made to stand with your pink cheeks on display, for all those passing by to see.

I hope you know, as you gaze at the wall with your bare bottom stinging, how much your fellow readers are now smirking. And how much they’re enjoying your very public humiliation…

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