The advent of spanking

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas... and that means lots of super-fun activities and traditions :D

And, I have to say, as nice as decorating a pretty tree might be – and it is lovely – the greatest, shiniest tradition of all is Ana Vitsky’s Advent Calendar!

What dat, you ask? Why, only a month-long celebration of the festive season and the wonderful world of spanking fiction – with daily posts and chances to WIN cool prizes (including free books by a veritable galaxy of authors, and lots more besides!)

Sign up on this here post as a vital first step to taking part. I have :)

This message was approved by S Claus.

Sunday school

Saturday may be the hottest day of the week for spanking fiction, but – in Casa Hasler at least – Sunday seems to be the day when naughty girls get spanked most often in reality.

(Yay for free time! :D)

The scene is a familiar one, but no less shameful for that. Two figures alone in a softly-lit room. A schoolgirl standing before her teacher, fidgeting and frowning as she is upbraided, her blushing gaze fixed on her feet. Silly detention, she thinks to herself... not fair... too big for this.

That she looks for all the world anything but too big for detention, with her childish school shoes, knee-length school socks, pleated grey school skirt, crisp white school blouse, striped school tie, and pigtailed, ribboned hair, is a fact that our rebellious little miss might like to reflect upon sometime.

“Your conduct in Latin class was an absolute disgrace, young lady,” he scolds.

“But...” she mutters into her chest. “Lucy started it...”

“Silence!” he roars. “You are a disgrace, and you are going to be made sorry for it!”

A firm hand seizes her arm painfully. And suddenly she is over his knee, her skirt is tossed up, his fingers inspect the border of her knickers with a feather touch that makes her tingle.

“I’m sorry, Sir...” she whimpers, too late.

“You will be when I’m finished with you, girl. Very sorry indeed.”

The smacks that rain down upon her inviting little bottom make her jolt, and yelp, and protest anew. “Please... I don’t wanna spanking!” she whines to her teacher’s leg, her silly little head bobbing upside-down at its side, the smart trousers and shiny, irrefutably adult shoes in her eyeline wordlessly speaking of the chasm between his status and her own. As if to reinforce the point – the traitors – her own legs begin to scissor, and kick, and form the most indecorous shapes when she is spanked harder and faster for her insolent outburst.

She looks no more respectable when her knickers are taken down and left around her thighs in manifest tribute to her misbehaviour. She looks, of course, just as she is: a wayward schoolgirl getting exactly what she deserves. And she sounds like one as the hurtful smacks keep coming, again and again, each one deepening the shameful blush in her rear. How silly she sounds, yelping like that!

Sent to the corner, skirt held up in disgrace. Her little face, so brash and full of fun when she was playing her pranks in class, is now a sorrowful, tearful sight. She hates standing in the corner like a naughty little girl... she hates school, and detention, and spankings... she sniffles back a tear, feeling anything but big or clever.

The point of no return

Naughty girls (and boys) who have faced spankings will know that awful, sinking feeling you get when it becomes quite clear that, no matter what, you’re going to get a smacked bottom. No backing out, no pleading, no sweet smile will get you out of it. You’re at the point of no return.

My Christmas short story features a very naughty girl who has – for the first time in her life – reached that very point. And, lucky her, the one determined to spank her is none other than jolly old Santa!

Pippa gulped and unthinkingly clasped her hands to her behind. She didn’t like the idea of a spanking at all...

“B-but...” she whimpered in one last bid for clemency, “I don’t want a spanking...”

Her appeal met with a stonily determined glare, she glanced anxiously about herself as if in search for a means of salvation. Seeing none, she made a sudden, desperate dash for the door. Unfortunately, Santa was ready for her and grabbed her by the wrist as she tried to pass him.

“You’re not going anywhere but over my knee, madam!” he snapped, and in the twinkling of an eye he pulled the mortified young woman down across his lap as easily as one might a toy doll.

Hey, we’ve all been there... and what a nice place it is to be.

There are plenty more naughty treats to enjoy from the other Saturday Spankings participants! (Isn’t Saturday great?)

Coming attractions

I’m afraid that this is another ‘my dog ate my homework’* post as I’m snowed under with non-naughty things right now... leaving me next to no time for fun spanky blogging stuff. Sorry :(

But I will have time soon!

And I have a list of things all planned out to entertain and delight you, starting with a second snippet from my forthcoming Christmas short story on Saturday :D

*Figure of speech. Doggie wouldn’t eat paper really. He’s not (that) silly!

So many naughty girls, so much spanking

What an honour – for the second week running I am the co-star of an Ana Vitsky scene!

In marked contrast to my last appearance on Ana’s blog, in which I expertly portrayed a well-spanked little girl, this time I appear in the strict teacherly guise of Miss Hasler, a lady who is no stranger to administering firm correction to deserving bottoms. And I am joined in the classroom by the very talented and equally naughty Natasha Knight (lucky me)! :D

And unlucky Natasha, it has to be said, for she is set to receive what all badly-behaved schoolgirls need and deserve... a jolly good spanking across her teacher’s knee!

The insolent minx ;)

Round Table Discussion: Feminism

I’m a feminist and I like to be spanked.

Is that a contentious statement? I would personally say absolutely not. In italics and everything. After all, if I reformulated it as “I’m a feminist and I like to do things I enjoy,” nobody would think it incongruous in the slightest. Yet the idea of a self-proclaimed strong, independent woman allowing herself to be spanked is problematic for some. Let’s step into the theoretical shoes of one such person and ask the obvious questions of the spank-happy feminist:

How can you enjoy being dominated? Being struck? Women have fought for generations to free themselves of exactly that!

If feminism, the core of it, is about anything, it’s about rejecting limiting, essentialist worldviews and definitions. Principally, rejecting the idea that gender can be used as a criterion of ability or worth and thus as a determinant of social status. That people can be categorised, and assigned roles and modes of behaviour, based on their gender. That might equals right. The triumph of feminism in the Western world means that these and other such ideas are now relics, falling ever further out of use, rather than living things, part of the everyday fabric of life.

My life isn’t perfect, but I am thankful every day that I live in a time and place far removed from the restrictive societies that so many women had to live within (and still do in many parts of the world). I am empowered in ways that such women could (and can) only dream of. I can choose my own pursuits; I can study, and build a career; I can be financially independent; I can choose my own partner and live with him as an equal. I might not always succeed in my endeavours, but I have the chance to try.

That’s great, but get to the point.

What I experience when I submit to a spanking is quite different to what less fortunate women experience in their daily lives. The key difference is, of course, the factor of choice; of agency.

The fact of the matter is that I get spanked because I like it. Because I want it. There is a world of difference between that and being struck against my will. The central maxim of TTWD comes to mind: ‘safe, sane and consensual’. This means that, even though what is done to me might look like a man physically and emotionally dominating a woman against her will (especially given my excellent acting skills ;D), in reality it is a man respecting his partner’s wishes and giving her pleasure. That he is a man and I a woman is, in a very real sense, immaterial: the dynamic of our spanking relationship would be exactly the same if my partner was a woman. Or a Martian, for that matter.

I think that a great deal of the misconceptions people have about spanking come from the still-extant association it has with domestic violence, an aspect of the social and physical oppression of women that was a deeply ingrained part of Western societies until the mid/late 20th century (and still an unhappy part of many women’s lives today). But of course the resemblance is entirely superficial; a matter of surface appearance. The motivations – the realities – behind the two acts are so different as to be incomparable. To someone who doesn’t ‘get’ erotic spanking the distinction is meaningless, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. (In just the same way, I don’t understand electricity, yet it still somehow powers my computer despite my ignorance).

To return to the question implied in opening – how can a woman reconcile being a feminist with being spanked, and humiliated, and all the rest of it? – I actually think of the matter in quite different terms, i.e. that there isn’t actually anything to reconcile. Far from representing any kind of diminution of my liberation, my being spanked is proof positive of it: it is precisely because I have the freedom to express my sexuality that I can indulge my various fetishes. Because I’m free I can dress as a little girl and be scolded and sent upstairs to await a beating with the belt. I can be taken by the wrist and pulled down across my partner’s knee. I can cry out as he spanks my bare bottom nice and hot and sore, and relish the feeling of helplessness that comes as the pain builds and he holds me in place despite my struggling.

I would actually be less free, less empowered, if I was prevented somehow from experiencing those things; if I had for whatever reason to go through life unable to express the desires that well within me. That the absence of the ‘violence’ needed to satisfy those desires would make me less happy is something that would confound some, no doubt, but I know myself best and I know what I need.

And that, to me, is the purpose and the gift of feminism (and every other empowering ideology): it represents a reclaiming of our own bodies, our own lives. It pushes the horizons of what is ‘acceptable’ back. It has challenged, and continues to challenge, overarching and dehumanising societal ‘norms’ and in so doing puts power where it belongs: in the hands of the individual. That I sometimes choose to use my freedom when in the privacy of the bedroom to roleplay as a maid and have my backside thrashed is in no way a refutation of feminism. Rather, it is a thrilling affirmation of it.

My body is my own. My sexuality is my own. I’m a feminist and I like to be spanked.

This being the round table, there are lots more takes on this fascinating subject to enjoy. Do please visit the following clever people if you haven’t done so already:

A lovely (and sore) surprise

Bad girls get all the best things! My friend Anastasia Vitsky has very kindly written a delightful little scene starring flame-haired Irish beauty Tara Finnegan and... me!

(In a clear case of casting against type, I play a naughty girl called Penny who has earned a good spanking. Can you believe it?)

Interestingly, the scene takes place after the spanking has been delivered, and so details a very sorry and tearful Penny sitting on Tara’s knee. Ana captures the emotions, and the tenderness, of the moment so well: the loving firmness of spanker and the blushing timidity of spankee; the love that surrounds the act of discipline. (Also, she writes me very accurately!) And, as the piece is part of SatSpanks, all of this is achieved within eight sentences. Very clever!

Do pop over to Ana’s place and enjoy :D

Fireworks

A super-quick post today, based firmly in reality – or my version of it – rather than a fantasy world. (I say super-quick as I’ve just got home from work and I have to go make dinner in a second and potentially get ready to go out. We shall see).

The reality-based topic at hand is of the kind that my friend and fellow Brit-spanky writer OFG often writes about: the practicalities of kinking and, in particular, the noise one makes.

Noise is on my mind right now because November 5 is a very noisy date in the UK. It’s Guy Fawkes’ Night (or Bonfire Night if you prefer), which is basically a nationwide firework festival. It’s dark as I scribble this and so not a minute goes by without a loud BANG! outside. (Actually, it’s more like POP-POP-PHEEEE-BANG-POP-BANG!)

And the thought has occurred in my kinky little brain... what better evening to use as cover for noisy bedroom antics? Because, shameless painslut though I may be, I do live in a little house in a densely-packed area with neighbours all around, and I am conscious of the noise we make when implement meets bottom, and the noise I make when I squeal and squawk, and that ever-present awareness is a teeny bit of a downer. And I would love to be free of it, even if only for one night, and let it all hang out!

BH might want to go to a local firework display; it remains to be seen. Personally, I’d be much happier to be tied to our bed in my maid outfit and thrashed silly while the bangs and pops go on outside.

I shall have to see if I can persuade him to enjoy a different sort of firework display :)

He knows if you've been bad or good

We’re hopping from one holiday to another for Saturday Spankings today, with a little snippette from my forthcoming Christmas short. (Can you believe it’s November already? Yikes!)

In this scene, the self-centred and rude Pippa has been surprised – as one would be – by a visit from Mr S Claus himself, and it seems he hasn’t called round to deliver a gift. She’s a bit of a diva, and she doesn’t react very graciously to the news that she’s on the naughty list...

“You must think I’m as crazy as you are! Santa, indeed! A naughty list! I’ve never heard anything so stupid!”

Santa, quite used to such reactions in the naughty-listed, gazed steadily back at the fuming woman. “Stupid it may be,” he returned, “but the fact remains you’ve been a very badly-behaved girl this year. Selfish, immature, callous.”

Pippa, incandescent with rage at being spoken to in such a manner, opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the ominous baritone of the stern-faced Santa.

I think we can all guess what this grown-up brat is getting for Christmas, can’t we?

There are loads of great authors with sexy, spanky snippets (this is SatSpanks, after all): check them out!