Casey and Katie and the birthday spankings

As a kinky blogger and (sometime) erotic scribbler I am lucky enough to count many creative, charming, and downright lovely people as friends. Two of these radiant flowers – hello, Casey McKay and Katie Meer! – are celebrating birthdays this weekend and, being naughty, spanky girls, they have naturally invited their chums to write spanking fantasies about them.

My piece is below and stars the pair in schoolgirl mode, waiting outside the beautiful and forgiving Miss Hasler’s office, having been summoned for misbehaving in class. Oh, wait. By ‘beautiful and forgiving’ I mean ‘beautiful and strict’. Oh dear...

*****

For such fast friends, the two girls standing in the lime-green school corridor gave a very good impression of being at odds. The occasional kick of a heel against the wall was all that broke the silence, and each girl pointedly avoided the other’s gaze, staring sullenly into space instead.

“Your fault!” Katie pouted, arms folded huffily.

“No, yours!” Casey snapped in retort, turning and jabbing a finger into her friend’s ribs for emphasis. “You’re the one who dared me!”

Katie was an instant away from grabbing a handful of her classmate’s hair and pulling when the dreaded word “Enter!” rang loud and clear through Miss Hasler’s door. The girls certainly looked into each others’ eyes then, fear written all over their young faces.

The pair made just as timid a sight once they were inside the schoolmistress’s office: heads bowed, one girl fiddling nervously with her fingers, the other with her grey pleated skirt.

“So you think it’s funny to write naughty stories in class?” Miss Hasler demanded, her icy tone making it abundantly clear that she found the matter anything but amusing.

“No, Miss,” Casey muttered into her blazer, sheepishly twirling the toe of a shiny black Mary Jane on the carpet.

“No...” the strict teacher sardonically echoed. “And what about you, Katie? Hmm?”

“No, Miss...” Katie whispered, her blushing face scarcely visible beneath her tumbling locks.

Miss Hasler gave a little nod to herself then rose to her feet. She paced slowly around her desk, glaring frostily at the two shame-faced reprobates trembling before her. “It never ceases to amaze me,” she said, once she stood mere inches from the girls, “how readily wayward girls renounce their actions – actions they were quite proud of when undertaking them – as soon as the prospect of punishment arises.”

Casey, wishing to the tips of her toes that she could be anywhere but where she was, knitted her fingers under her implacable teacher’s scolding. Poor Katie, prone to blushing at the best of times, felt her face grow as hot as an oven.

“Naughty, filthy stories... about spanking! I’ve never heard of such wickedness! To think, that you should write such things in my school!”

Katie winced, unable to lift her gaze from the floor, and then suddenly gasped as she was seized by the arm and marched toward her teacher’s huge oak desk. “We’ll soon see how much fun you think spankings are!” Miss Hasler cried, the anger in her voice matching her violent grip. Before poor Katie could gather her senses she found herself bent over the desk, her skirt pinned to her back by a firm hand.

The hapless schoolgirl did not have to wait long for her spanking to begin: her soft cheeks were stung at once by a succession of fulsome smacks, each one near shaking her out of her shoes. What a spectacle she made as she was given her just desserts! Squirming and wailing in distress and discomfort, like the naughtiest girl in the world; pleading futilely for forgiveness as her bottom was slapped ever-fiercer shades of red.

She sobbed as she was stood up and given a final, demeaning, finger-wagging scolding, then sent to the corner, bottom aflame. And then – all too soon for her liking – it was Casey’s turn. Dragged humiliatingly into position just as her friend had been, she yelped from the first smack of her teacher’s hard hand and earned enough slaps to the backs of her thighs for making a fuss to bring hot, painful colour to those infamously sensitive spots. Yet, as red as her thighs may have been, her buttocks easily outdid them by the time Miss Hasler had finished impressing the importance of good behaviour upon her, and they glowed as luridly red against the pure white of her school knickers as a pair of plump strawberries in cream. Casey’s little face was a picture of misery long before she was sent to join her friend in disgrace; as she shuffled across the office bitter tears streaked down her cheeks in vivid testimony of her sorrow.

With a dismissive tut Miss Hasler settled back down to marking exercise books. The two girls facing her bookshelves snivelled and gulped back tears in the time-honoured manner of well-spanked miscreants, hands on their heads, burning bottoms on humiliating display. Both girls desperately regretted their misbehaviour and both inwardly vowed never, ever to write naughty stories in class again...

...at least until the next time.

*****

Happy birthday(s), ladies!

Free spankings!

Just a note to say that the modern masterpiece that is Spank! 2 is available for free today and for the next two days (July 25-27), so if you have a Kindle and fancy some spank-heavy Hasler (and Sharpe) nonsense, go ahead and grab it!

Amazon US
UK
Germany
France
Spain
Italy
Japan
India
Brazil
Canada
Mars

Oh, and the girl on the cover is a professional model and not me, in case you were wondering. I’d never wear gloves like those.



P.S. If you’d like to leave a review, that would make me a very happy Penny. xxx

Note (28 July): The promotion has now ended so the book is no longer free. Sorree!

There are lots of short and sweet bits of fiction right here on this blog, though, all as free as a jaybird (is that the expression?): so do have a good browse around!

Penny Does a Runner: Part VIII

If one of an usherette’s chief duties was to smile, Penny excelled on that score right from the start: she could hardly keep a happy grin off her face the whole day. She had always dreamed of doing something as wonderful as joining the circus, and now her dream had come true!

Being shown around and introduced to the performers was very exciting, though it was a little strange to see such glamorous showbiz people off-duty. Pixie and Trixie, the death-defying acrobats, were very friendly and applauded kindly when Penny stood on her head; Aristotle Atlas, the strongman, lifted her with one hand and carried her round his caravan; The Amazing Anastasia – hair in rollers, cigarette hanging from her lips – made herself an instant friend with a very rude joke.

Penny had such fun that the afternoon quite flew by and before she knew it the evening show, and her life as an usherette, had begun. The pretty pink dress she had been given to wear was very short, and she had been made up – to her young mind, just like a movie star – and as she set out with her tray of snacks she felt terribly glamorous herself.

The atmosphere was so super within the giant circus tent that Penny’s work hardly seemed like work at all. She weaved her way up and down and along the seats, serving people with a smile and sneaking glances at the entertainment whenever she could. The only moments she didn’t enjoy were those in which rascals pinched her bottom. It must have happened a good half-dozen times over the course of the evening but try as she might she could never see who did it, the culprits being safely anonymous in the dark of the auditorium.

Pinched bottom aside, Penny couldn’t have been happier. Yes, this was the life for her, she thought with a smile. But little did she know that events were about to take a dramatic turn.

PART VII
PART IX

Checking in

Tsk. A whole week between posts! Apologies, rat-fans. (Brit joke). I’ve been kept away from my Naughty Little PC by a combination of sunny weather and socialising, hayfever and tiredness, and a nasty green monster with sharp teeth snarling at me from my desk.

N.B. That last thing is a fib.

Lack of time aside, I have found it very hard to write of late as my head has often felt as if it’s stuffed with cotton wool. Fine for lounging but sooo frustrating as I do love to write and (hopefully) entertain you.

But I’m going to set myself a target. I will write the next part of Penny’s circus adventure and post it tomorrow, come what may. It might well turn out complete nonsense...

...but then, isn’t that the norm round here?

Penny the naughty maid

I might have mentioned once or twice that I have lots of school uniform items that I like to dress in, and am lucky enough to get to roleplay and be spanked in. To be honest I could write far more often than I do about it all, as I seriously heart schoolwear. But I have other outfits, too: one of my favourites is a French maid dress, that I wear with seamed stockings and high heels. It’s one of those cheap and tacky ‘bedroom fantasy’ outfits, but it’s short and sexy and frilly and I feel very much like a teasing little wench when I wear it. Which is nice!

Anyway, to the point: I wore it yesterday. And no sooner had I tied my last ribbon than I was sent for by the master of the house and given a severe dressing-down in his private bedchamber. Oh, how I blushed with shame as he listed my offences, one of which – a shamefully untidy uniform – I was upbraided for whilst being subjected to a deeply humiliating and intimate inspection. I blush now to recount it, let alone my other crimes: slacking on my duties... lying to my superiors about my slacking... and, worst of all, touching myself wickedly in the servants’ quarters! (Of all places!)

Needless to say I soon found myself across my kind and generous master’s knee for a jolly good spanking, feet kicking abjectly as he slapped a badly-needed lesson into me. And then facing the corner in disgrace, hands on head. And then kneeling on the bed with my deserving bottom bared for the crop. And then whimpering pathetically as it was scorched with that feared implement. I wished so much to be able to go back in time and make amends... but all I could do was wince in pain and yelp into the makeshift gag that had been made of my knickers, my master’s words of reproach ringing in my ears all the while!

And then I was forced – forced, dear reader! – to pleasure that gentleman, taking his throbbing cock in my naughty mouth until its owner was quite satisfied.

Yep. I like being a maid.

Miss Hasler's English Class: 6

Hello again, class! Did you all enjoy the poem I wrote the other day? I hope so. Can anyone guess what today’s lesson is all about? No, Andrea... it isn’t about chocolate. It’s about poetry! Timmy, don’t make that face.

Poetry is a lot like music. It has rhythm, just like music: when you read poetry out loud you can hear the rhythm. Listen as I read a line out loud from a poem you all know.

Mary had a little lamb.

Can you hear the rhythm? Ma-ry had-a litt-le lamb.

Rhythm in poetry has a special name. It is called meter. There are lots of different meters that describe lots of different poetic rhythm-schemes, and they all have special names so we can tell them apart.

One meter that some of you may have heard of is iambic pentameter. This one is basically well-known because Shakespeare wrote a lot of things that use it.

Watch as I write it on the board. Iambic pentameter... see how it’s spelt? As if someone was saying ‘I am bic’? Good.

But whatever can it mean? They are two very strange words. Let’s work it out by breaking them down.

The first word, ‘iambic’, describes the type of metrical foot used. Yes, a line of poetry is made up of feet... it’s a silly word to use, but there you go. It might help you to think of a line of poetry as a row of feet, like this:

See? A poetic line is made up of ‘feet’. Yes, Joey, I know they look like shoes. I can’t draw feet.

So why is our example called ‘iambic’? Because it describes a type of foot called an iamb. Iamb = iambic, just as hero = heroic.

There are lots of types of poetic feet, and an iamb is one that contains two syllables: an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. Da-dum.

Everyone say da-dum. Good!

We use stressed and unstressed syllables all the time when we speak: ‘stress’ simply means that we place more emphasis on some parts of words or speech than others. The clever doggie chased the cheeky cat. We say clever rather than clever, don’t we? So that means ‘clever’ is a word with a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed one.

Okay, so now we know what the ‘iambic’ part of iambic pentameter means. But what about the ‘pentameter’ part? The meter at the end tells us that it is a type of poetic meter, so that just leaves penta. Do you remember an earlier class when we talked about words we use in English that come from other languages? Well, ‘penta’ comes from the Greek language, and it describes a number. Does anyone know which number it describes?

That’s right, pao – it’s the number five. So, if penta means five, pentameter must be a meter that contains five of something.

Look at the board again and we see what it contains five of. Feet! So ‘iambic pentameter’ simply describes a line of poetry that contains five iambic feet. If we were inventing it today we might call it a ‘five da-dum poetry line’. So you see it isn’t such a scary thing after all.

Let’s write an example line in iambic pentameter. The rhythm (or meter), remember, goes da-dum da-dum da-dum da-dum da-dum.

The frisky pony galloped here and there.

The-fris ky-po ny-ga lloped-here and-there.

Notice that the line contains some words with one syllable and some with more than one. Single-syllable (monosyllabic) words are flexible and can be stressed or unstressed, but polysyllabic ones – like pony – should be treated with care to make sure they fit properly into our metrical scheme. Remember that words can run between feet: another example line might be Dynamic Dexter planted trees all day.

Now, you try! Write a line in iambic pentameter.

Shafts of flame gigantic

Drat this hayfever. My head is so fuzzy right now it makes writing naughty things (and writing coherently in general) very hard. My sympathy to anyone else who suffers from it.

I have managed to stay compos mentis long enough to write a silly limerick. I hope it makes you smile!

Hope vs Reality

She thought it a Daddy-proof ruse
And one guaranteed to amuse!
Her confident dash
Was gone in a flash
And so were her pink underoos.

Jolly fun in the tuckshop

While we eagerly await the next episode of Penny’s super adventure (appearing as soon as my creative braincell summons the requisite energy... I think the poor thing could use a friend) I thought I’d share a lovely piece of ‘schoolgirl’s own’ imagery with you.

Hurrah for the fourth! By all accounts they simply thrashed St Natasha’s in the inter-school hockey final – seven to two, and Poppy scored four by herself, the absolute wizard! “Sodas and cream buns all round!” cried the beaming captain on entering the tuckshop, trophy held proudly aloft. “Ra-ther!” came the gleeful response from the assembled gals.

Now, that’s my own take on the moment captured in the picture, but there are lots of ways events could go from there. (Even, dare I say it, various scenarios involving spanking). As a creative writing exercise, readers are invited to come up with ideas in the comments :)