Monday, 31 December 2012

Ring out the fast, ring in the true

New Year’s Eve; I can hardly believe it! It only seems like yesterday that I was travelling down to see my family (it was actually nine days ago) and last week that I was writing about Halloween (two months ago). I’d like to thank everyone who has visited my blog in 2012, and I send grateful hugs to everyone who has been kind enough to leave a comment*: it’s really encouraging to know that my scribblings are of interest. I will do my best to keep on improving and hopefully making the world a teeny bit brighter and spankier in 2013.

I have met many, many lovely people over the course of the year, and discovered a wealth of fascinating spanking blogs, and for that I am grateful. I look forward to making even more new friends in the year to come.

I wrote the perfect NLW New Year’s post this time last year so I won’t try to top that for sauciness. I don’t have a picture as wonderful as the one I used then, for a start. And I figure you can only weave a little vignette juxtaposing NYE celebrations with school roleplay so many times. I simply hope that you all have a fun time tonight and that the new year brings only good things. (That includes spankings, bondage, and any other kinky stuff you happen to enjoy, of course).

This post, you may be interested to know, is number two hundred on my blog. I know that every blogger says this but I’m really proud of myself for reaching such a mark: after ten posts I wondered if I would be able to think of enough things to reach twenty. Thanks to imreadonly2 and Sir Daniel for their guest posts! (Though I guess that means I’m only on 198 really). Even more amazing than reaching 200 posts, to me at least, is that my humble little blog will turn two years old on Jan 25. Time really does fly when you’re having fun :)

Happy New Year, everyone!

*Everyone except this guy, that is. “Finish the fucking story!” indeed.

Sunday, 30 December 2012

The wonders you can do

I rather skipped over the non-kinky gifts I received for Christmas in this post, but I want to write a little bit about one in particular that BH bought me: a DVD of series 1 of Wonder Woman. (Yes, the TV show from the 1970s). Utterly fantastic. I don’t know if there are enough superlatives to fully capture its awesomeness, in fact.

Colourful, camp, funky, it’s like a blast of concentrated Americana. Never a bad thing. And what a great character WW is! Like all great characters she can of course represent all kinds of things to different people but to me she represents, above all, an uncompromisingly positive expression of femininity. I mean that in all seriousness, in case you were wondering: it’s this that transcends the comic-book structure of the show and sets it light years above things that are superficially similar, like the 1960s Batman TV show.

As her name might suggest, Wonder Woman can do all kinds of superhero-type ‘wonders’, but I think that these are purely allegorical to her real strength: her self-belief. (Just as her battles with various villains are allegorical to the ordinary woman’s various negotiations with the world). She personifies a paradigm of female dynamism, confidence and self-determination; a worldview in which women need not think themselves dependent upon men, or in any way secondary to them. With or without the star-spangled hotpants she is a woman who doesn’t need a big, strong man to help her deal with her problems; she’s a woman who takes no baloney and kicks righteous ass when it needs to be kicked, all without sacrificing one iota of her feminine essence. YEAH!

The significance of her being on the side of ‘right’ can’t be overstated, btw: traditionally, powerful women have been synonymous with evil and/or unnaturalness, as if a non-passive woman is an aberrance (think witches and the countless villainesses and wicked stepmothers of folklore and Western literature). Wonder Woman tears that particular rulebook up and shows that women can be strong and ‘good’. The show is easily as radical as anything Hélène Cixous and friends have written, and is IMO way more significant as it is right there in the centre of the American cultural mainstream.

The message of the show to me is that if one woman can liberate herself to think that way, then all women can, regardless of circumstances or context. I’m not ashamed to say that she’s a heroine of mine.

She also happens to have the coolest costume ever. I think I might have to put ‘Wonder Woman outfit’ at the top of my wish list for next Christmas. (Just wish I had a butt like Lynda Carter’s).

This post is nearly-but-not-quite a kinky think, btw, as it invites a think about feminism and kink, particularly on how one can reconcile (and justify to others) being an independent woman with being a submissive in a M/F (or F/F) relationship, but I’ll save that think for another time.

P.S. Does anyone else hear the WW theme music and want to rush off and fight crime that very instant?

P.P.S. I did dress up in my gym kit yesterday evening and was given a jolly good spankering over BH’s knee, skirt up, knickers down... and I did wail and promise to be a good girl in future and never ever to skip school again. I came so hard when BH fucked me afterwards that I thought I was going to explode. BLISS! (I’m sure any Martian readers will be very confused by this post).

Saturday, 29 December 2012

A Penny in a pear tree


I’m back from my stay with my family and am safely ensconced in my little lair once again. I hope you have all had lovely holidays and have lots of new toys to play with (do tell)! I myself mainly got things to wear and things to eat (that is, enough choklit to see me to April) but way better than the things – lovely as they are – was just getting to see my folks.

Now I’m back with BH and am seriously hankering for a spankering... we’ll hopefully see to that later tonight! And I’m very happy to report that I have not one but two brand new kinky garments to play in: a maroon gym skirt and a grey school pinafore. Oh, they are lovely! And what a nice decision to have to make... I think I might have to play in my netball kit first. The scenario writes itself, after all: naughty Penny skips netball practice (and fibs about it) and Daddy is most displeased... oh! I wonder if a certain little madam is going to be taught a painful lesson? One that involves her pretty pleated skirt being flipped up and her gym knickers yanked down?

It’s for her own good, after all... ;)

Saturday, 22 December 2012

Back in five (days) or so

I’m off today to stay with my family for the holidays*, so my little blog is going to be quiet for a bit. (I still need to pack so I’d better get on with it!)

I just wanted to take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy, fun, peaceful Christmas. I hope you get everything you want, need and deserve. (And maybe some presents, too).

See you soon!

Love, Penny xxx

*We won’t be playing Kinkopoly, I hasten to add!

Thursday, 20 December 2012

Fun for all the family

Stuck for something to do with the folks this Xmas? Want your ease of sitting to be decided on the roll of a dice? Got a thing for guys in top hats?

Then you need to play Kinkopoly!

A game of chance and skill for people who like things a bit twisted, Kinkopoly lets you realise that long-cherished dream of spanking and being spanked whilst pushing natty little figurines round with your finger.

Move around the board, collect your favourite kinks, and give and receive jolly good hidings as you go: the winner is the one who begs for mercy last!

No two games are ever the same, especially given the vagaries of the Chance and Community Chest cards...

Oh dear!

Oh yes!


Kinkopoly – the most fun you can have with (some of) your clothes on! Available from all good sex shops and Wal-Mart.

(The wonders of a paint program and a silly imagination...) ;D

N.B. Any similarity to a popular ‘property trading’ board game is entirely coincidental.

Tuesday, 18 December 2012

Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars

Sorry about the relative quietness: this time of year is quite hectic, isn’t it? I haven’t had as much time to spend on my little blog as I might ordinarily, so apologies. I’ve got all my present-buying done though, so that’s one thing at least. Just need to wrap them now.

It was the office Christmas party on Friday (do they have those in other countries? Office parties, that is, not Fridays) and I will confess I did get plastered pleasantly merry. Free bar! No spankable naughtiness (as far as I can recall) though, sorry. Or does drinking too much, flirting, saying everything MUCH TOO LOUD, dancing suggestively with other girls and generally being a raucous an effervescent little madam in a low-cut frock and impractical heels count as being naughty? Hopefully not. (Thank goodness it was on a Friday rather than a Thursday like last year, btw. World class lie-in with a thumping headache the following day!)

I’ve got a very silly thing (nearly) ready that I hope will amuse you, so that will hopefully go up midweek. Right now I have a moderately silly thing in the form of a Christmas-themed limerick. Based on a true story, as they say:

What Girls on the Naughty List Get

When Penny was sent in to see
Mr Claus about being naughty,
Her charms cut no ice
And in half a trice
She found herself over his knee.

Thursday, 13 December 2012

Searching for Santa

Not, as you might assume, a festive reworking of Waiting for Godot, but a silly little something that I spotted in my blog stats; specifically an amusing little juxtaposition in the section that tells me the things folks have typed into search engines prior to visiting The World’s Best Blog*:

Now, admittedly I am getting lots of searches for Santa-related spankiness at the moment, (tis the season!) and people of course find my blog by entering my name into Google, but still... hmf! Me, being spanked by Santa! Just imagine such a thing!

Just imagine...

...poor, sweet, innocent me, held firmly in place across Santa’s lap... my pretty blue party dress pinned up against my back by his heavy hand... my pink cotton knickers twisted humiliatingly round my flailing ankles... my little face a picture of sorrow and wet with tears... and all the while Santa’s other hand merrily slaps my squirming bare cheeks the vivid red colour of his suit. “Ow! Ow!” I yelp, sounding for all the world exactly like a naughty little brat getting just what she needs and deserves. “Ho-ho-ho!” Santa chuckles, the big, jolly, old meanie.

It would all be rather like this, I suppose! :D

*The world’s best blog called ‘Naughty Little Writer’, anyway. (Unless there’s another one someplace).

Wednesday, 12 December 2012

I winned something!

As many of you know, Ana is running an Advent Calendar game over on her blog: each day readers can win prizes by commenting. And today I won one! Yay for me!

Yay for Beth, too, actually: I nominated her for a prize of Mrs Claus so she wins that :)

This is honestly the first thing I have ever won – thank you, Ana!

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

A picture post

Because I yap enough and you deserve a break, and because these images can speak for themselves. (They’re of the little Christmas tree I have on my desk). Click for bigness and optimum festivity:


Saturday, 8 December 2012

Dear Santa, love Penny

Wanna see something cute and Christmassy? And by cute I mean really goshdarn cute? (You just know this is going to involve Little Penny, don’t you?) ;D

The young Miss Hasler, like many, many other little girls and boys the world over, writes a letter to Santa each year. Her Daddy tells me that she penned this year’s missive – in her very carefullest handwriting, on her special snowy notepaper, mais oui – on Thursday evening, lying on the rug in front of the fire, so deep in concentration that she didn’t answer when asked if she would like a yummy hot chocolate. (Daddy brought her one anyway). Trust me, that says a lot about the importance of the undertaking.

I feel a bit mean showing Penny’s sekrit and confidential correspondence to you but it is just too sweet not to share. Don’t worry, it will of course be safely delivered to Santa right after this. I hope reading it gives you the same warm feeling inside that it gave me. And I hope Penny gets everything she asks for.

Sorry... think I might have something in my eye. *sniff*

Thursday, 6 December 2012

Let there be cookies

It’s cookie day! Yaay!

To be more specific, as every day is cookie day really, it’s the day of the Third Annual Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza! Hugs and thanks go to Jz for creating and organising this sweet and biscuity event, and for letting me take part this year.

(Recipes, on my blog! Whatever next? :D)

My recipe is actually from a book as I wasn’t taught any at my Mum’s knee, but hopefully that’s okay. I can guarantee from personal experience that it makes very yummy cookies :)

One important thing before we begin: always make sure that there is a responsible adult in the kitchen when baking. Butter and chocolate are safe enough, but ovens can get very hot (and we will be boiling some water) and I don’t want anyone to get hurted.

Okay, aprons on!

Chocolate swirl cookies

  • 125g (4 1/2oz) butter, softened
  • 50g (2oz) icing sugar, sifted
  • 50g (2oz) cornflour (cornstarch)
  • 25g (1oz) cocoa powder
  • 100g (4oz) plain flour
  • 100g (4oz) dark or milk chocolate

  1. Preheat oven to 190˚C/375˚F (gas mark 5)
  2. Beat the butter in a large bowl until very soft
  3. Add all the other ingredients (except the chocolate) and mix together (with hands is easiest and funnest) until you have a gooey dough
  4. Take small balls of the dough and flatten them into the size and shape you want, then place each proto-cookie on a lined baking tray
  5. Bake for 10-12 minutes
  6. Remove from oven and allow to cool
  7. When the cookies have attained coolness, break the chocolate into little pieces and melt it in a heatproof bowl over a pan of boiling water
  8. Drizzle the molten chocolate all over the cookies with a spoon and leave it to set
  9. Remove cookies from baking tray(s) and devour! NOM nom nom! (Or put on a plate and serve; it’s up to you)
As befits a Cookie Extravaganza there are lots and lots of blogs with yummy recipes today, so hopefully every sweet tooth will find something that suits. Lookit:

Advizor54, aisha, Ally, Autumn in jeans, Beth, Dana, Elysia, Emi J, Fiona, Greengirl, Hedone, HisLilAngel, Joey, Julia, Jz, Krissy, lil, Linda Long, Little Monkey, mouse (her recipe here, her blog here), Mrs. Soft Bottom, Ms. Constance, Naughty Kitty, nilla, Ronnie, Ryan Beaumont, Sassy, selkie (her recipe here, her blog here), Serenity, sin, Striving for Peace, TemptingSweets, Tom, Veronica

That lot should keep even the most voracious of Cookie Monsters happy, I reckon! :D

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Mrs Claus is comin' to town

Tis the season for giving, so in that spirit I would very much like to commend to your attention a very entertaining, very cute and very naughty book by my friend Anastasia Vitsky: The Vengeance of Mrs Claus. (Just the title gives you a wonderful shiver of anticipation, doesn’t it?)

The star of the piece is a troublesome miss called Claire Labraun: twenty-one and headstrong, Claire drives her parents to distraction with her constant disobedience. It is perhaps no surprise that this badly-behaved young lady has never been spanked... but that is all set to change this Christmas.

This spanking-hot story is as brand new and shiny as the first snowflake to fall from the sky, and is released this Saturday, December 8. It is available from the good folks at Blushing Books and Amazon in a mega-wide variety of formats, so if you’re after some hot holiday DD reading fun do please check it out!

N.B. Observant readers will notice that Mrs Claus is proudly displayed (as it were) up there on the right of my little lair: I want to do everything I can to help publicise Ana’s book so I will keep it there throughout the Christmas season. (Plus I was getting a bit fed up of seeing the same girl’s butt every day). Much more festive, I’m sure you’ll agree!

Tuesday, 4 December 2012

Comings and goings

A little post about kinky links today, as I have recently added a few blogs to my collection of dear sweet pals but not written a little piece about them (as is customary round here).

I was actually introduced to these new chums thanks to the Liebster Award, or more exactly thanks to Joey nominating us for it all together. (So it was about more than just random ephemera, see!) And I’m very glad I was introduced to them, as they are all three uniquely charming. Three distinct voices; three interesting, vibrant, female perspectives. I was going to say that the spanking blogosphere never ceases to amaze me with its capacity for variation and interest, but that isn’t really correct. What never ceases to amaze me is the endless capacity of people to be interesting and unique.

That’s probably enough sucking up and amateur thinkology, so I’ll just say hello! to Flipping SpankCakes, Lea’s Corner, and XOXO, Beth. I am very glad to have found you.

Oh, and you are all very, very naughty girls, by the way. But then you knew that already.

Now, a much sadder thing. I’m very sorry to report that the excellent and longstanding MarQe’s Study blog has been retired this week. Like the sadly missed Mr Whacker, MarQe’s blog was one of the first sites I linked to when I started blogging, and it was always one of my favourite reads. The endless array of teasingly erotic images and suggestive notes – each of which spoke volumes about the sensual, strict, female-adoring predilections of the man behind the blog – were a daily pleasure, but what came across most strongly of all, and what I enjoyed most of all, was the unique air of sophistication that radiated from the page. When visiting I always felt like I had been granted a peek into an English gentleman’s private parlour, and could watch, like a blushing maidservant might, the naughty and refined goings-on within.

Thank you for turning a bad girl on, Mr MarQe xx

Sunday, 2 December 2012

I will not show my panties off, I will not show my...

As you may have gathered from various past scribblings, I do rather enjoy school-type punishment. Not just the dressing-up and the spankings (though they are both extremely yummy), but the detentions and the lines and the corner time too. I love the feeling of being reduced in status; reduced to a naughty schoolgirl who can be ordered around and told off and set tedious, old-fashioned exercises ‘for her own good’. It’s deeply ironic, I’m sure, but I rarely feel as wonderfully free as I do when I’m in my uniform writing BORING, SILLY lines under pain of a thrashing.

Another favourite kinky thing of mine is ‘remote discipline’: that is, being taken in hand and punished by someone even though they aren’t physically present to grab me by the arm and swat my behind. So I was as happy as a Fifth Former with the keys to the tuckshop when I was introduced by a penpal (okay, by a strict Top who keeps me in line) to a website that combines both of these things: Line Punishment!

The name basically says it all: LP is an internet-y way to set someone (or even set yourself) lines as a punishment. There are lots of options that can be set, such as the number of repetitions, adding on extra lines for mistakes, and even having the line to be copied out flipped upside-down! Once a task has been set up, the line writer logs in, enters the appropriate access code and begins. There is a time limit for the task (set by the person who created it), and closing the browser window is logged, so once you start you had better see it through! I found that this condition gave me a wonderful sense of being seated at a school desk, beavering away at an inescapable and repetitive punishment, as if in detention under the watchful eye of a teacher. Yum.

Errors are logged, as is the time taken, and as the task setter knows the access code for your task he or she can check afterwards and see exactly how you did. And then take whatever action may be appropriate... :)

One option I didn’t much like was the insertion of random capital letters in the line to be copied out. So if, for example, the line is set as “I am a very naughty girl” it might appear as “I am A vEry naughtY girl” on the first repetition, “i aM a veRy nauGhty girL” on the second, and so on. Type a capital in the wrong place and that’s an error. While this ensures that the line-writer can’t cheat by copying and pasting the same line over and over, it is very counter-intuitive. (Some of us are honest about our punishments, you know!) Happily, a non-capitalised setting has recently been added so everyone is catered for. (And now I have no excuse to get out of my punishment, wah).

So there you have it. If you have a hankering for typing lines like a naughty little brat, Line Punishment is the website you need. And I think it might come in very useful for Miss Hasler’s naughty pupils, so be warned, class!

P.S. Should you ever find yourself writing lines in this virtual detention room, ignore the button on the line-writing screen that says ‘Submit Current Line’: just hit the Return key when you have finished each one. Much easier, trust me.

P.P.S. If anyone would like to set me lines anytime, do please feel free. I have been quite naughty of late, after all. And I definitely deserve to be made to write ‘I will vote for the Spankee of the Month’ a hundred or so times. (Sorry Aunty!)

Friday, 30 November 2012

Bells and baubles and snowflakes and a pen

Gonna make this little post as first person pronoun-less as possible, as really sick of that Hasler bird and the letter between ‘H’ and ‘J’ in the alphabet.

It’s December tomorrow (or even today for some folks)! Hasn’t it come fast though? Must be a getting older thing. TFD will be able to tell us more about that.

Anyway, been patiently waiting, and waiting, and waiting... but can’t wait any longer, so behold (as long as me not gone and broken anything): Christmassy blog decorations! Yaay!

Thursday, 29 November 2012

Penny overload

Because I’m special and lovely and quite whiny I was nominated by not one but two blogpeeps for the Liebster Award, and so asked two sets of questions. (I say asked; it was more like pinned down and tickled). Here, then, are my responses to the fragrant and divine Anastasia Vitsky’s quizzings, as tearfully dictated to my PA from the couch:

What food did you dislike eating as a child?
Butterscotch! Sweetcorn... peas... broccoli... most green things, really. No, make that all green things.

What is your favorite Christmas song?
Does Silent Night count? If so, that. It reminds me of a music box my Mum had and it takes me back to that time.

Who is your favorite Disney villain?
The Queen of Hearts. She is just too much.

Do you like, dislike or not care about hearing spoilers for a story?
I don’t mind one bit. I like to hear other people’s take on things, and you often get that with spoilers.

What is your favorite reading position?
Lying in bed.

How many books do you have on your want-to-read list?
About two gazillion. I’ll have to live to about 800 to read them all. Or learn how to read really fast.

Have you ever “forgotten” to return a book to a friend or library because you loved it and wanted to keep it?
No, but people have said I could keep books. Maybe I’m contagious or something.

Describe one of your spanking (real life or story) fantasies in 11 words or fewer.
Girl forced to serve as a maid to a cruel master/mistress.

What is one of your pet peeves about spanking stories?
When things get telegraphed to the reader and spoil the surprise that has been set up.

Hulu, Amazon Prime streaming, TiVo, or Netflix?  (or whatever else you use...)?
I don’t use any of those new-fangled things. I still have a non-flat TV and a VCR. And a mobile that’s almost as old as me.

Your (uncensored) first response to finding out that I nominated you for this award?
Aw. I like Ana.

Had enough Penny yet? Well, tough. Just to finish you off here are eleven random and true facts about moi:
  1. My eyes are the same colour as Maria Sharapova’s.
  2. When I was little I used to eat grit from the side of the road.
  3. I gave myself friction burns pole dancing in Tenerife.
  4. I was invited to stay with an Art lecturer at his pad in the south of France when I was seventeen. (I declined).
  5. My earliest memory is of being carried by my Mum over some mud flats.
  6. I have fallen off a bar stool, drunk. (I got back on again). I have also fallen over drunk while dancing. And while walking down the street. And probably other times I can’t remember.
  7. I can change to the size of a chaffinch.
  8. I always, always pull my right sock on first. It’s just not right the other way.
  9. I used to feel really sad for Fred at the end of The Flintstones when he got locked out. I worried that he’d be stuck outside til the following week.
  10. I lost my virginity under the stars, in a one night stand.
  11. I never learned how to ride a bike.
Okay, so 7 is a fib. But the rest are 100% legit. (Replacement fact: I often yell at inanimate objects when blotto. So I am told).

Now, I have one more duty as a Liebster thingy person: to nominate some other bloggers so they can answer a bunch of questions! I hereby nominate Aunty Andrea, RedRump, TFD, Dave, OFG, and Julie. (I will send my questions by email as this post is already a mile long). I hope some or all of you can find the time to respond :)

Wednesday, 28 November 2012

Whine and ye shall receive

Aw. I feel loved! Joey and Ana (two of the nicest people in the spanking blogosphere) have each nominated me for the Liebster Award. Thank you. I owe you both a serious cuddle. Maybe we could have a three-way. Cuddle.

I feel a bit bad for whining now. Maybe I should be spanked. Yes. I think that might help. As would a good long spell in the corner.

Most people on Earth now know what the LA involves, but in case you don’t it requires the nominee to answer eleven questions set by their nominator and to list eleven facts about themselves. (Just like I did the other day, only with not-made-up facts).

Here are the questions Joey has asked of his nominees, and my carefully considered responses:

What spanking position do you prefer?
OTK. It’s just the best.

Is there any spanking implement that is a hard limit for you?
If there is I haven’t found it yet. I thought, before I experienced it, that it might be the cane. But it wasn’t. (Obviously).

What food do you hate?
I haven’t dared look at butterscotch since I had it at school aged eight. Absolutely horrible! But then everything they fed us at school was horrible, so maybe it’s got an unduly bad rep. Other than that, I can’t eat anything that looks just like it did when it was alive, like shrimps or lobster.

What activity makes you feel naughty?
Getting frisky in a public place.

Describe the clothes worn by your fantasy spanker?
If male, a smart dark suit with a nice dark shirt... all business and smartness, his smouldering, masculine sexuality and power simultaneously veiled and accentuated by clothes that signify respectability and decorum. If female, a sensible tweed skirt, a smart, light blouse (perhaps unbuttoned a little), dark, seamed stockings, shiny heeled shoes, hair tied up. I like the idea of respectably-dressed people being strict and kinky!

Describe the clothes you put on for your fantasy spanking?
Something to contrast with the above and signify my status as a child/subordinate: I think a little girl dress with a big, pretty bow on the back, and a petticoat underneath. And white kneesocks. And ribbons in my hair.

Where would you go for vacation if you won the lottery?
America. I’d want to see as much of it as possible, and meet lots of the lovely spanky people I have got to know online. And ring TFD’s doorbell and hide round the corner.

What famous person would you like to meet for dinner?
Dizzee Rascal. (Not really). Stan Laurel. Alive, of course.

What is your favorite holiday?
Christmas! It isn’t the same magical experience it was when I was a child, but it is wonderful in different ways now. Most importantly, it’s when I get to see my family.

What celebrity do you think deserves to be spanked?
Lots of them do. But Britney Spears should be first in line.

What is your pet peeve?
Crumbs on a smooth surface like a worktop or a desk; grit on a smooth floor. Argh!

That was fun! Thanks again to Joey for being a sweet asky-asker; I hope my answers were okay. So that this post doesn’t get too long I will post my answers to Ana’s probing questions tomorrow. Same time, same brat-channel. (Bring alcohol).

Sunday, 25 November 2012

I'd like to thank God and my parents

I’ve given up hoping to be nominated for a Liebster Award so I’m going outlaw and nominating myself for another award. One that I’m just about to make up.

The, er... ah...

...the I.M.A. Slacker Award for Pinkest Spanking Blog (est. 2012)!

Yay! I win! Thank you, little people! Gush, gush!

According to the instructions scrawled on the back of the made-up cheque that came with the made-up award, recipients must list eleven made-up facts about themselves. Luckily I can lie without so much as blinking, so here you go:
  1. I once flashed my baps on the local TV news.
  2. Dana Specht has my number on her mobile.
  3. I’m allergic to pocket fluff, mayonnaise and Bryan Adams.
  4. My middle name is Esther.
  5. If you turn me upside-down I instantly fall asleep.
  6. I can’t pronounce the word ‘charcoal’.
  7. I have a nightmare every night involving Barney the dinosaur and flat-pack furniture.
  8. The smell of mown grass makes me wet myself on the spot.
  9. I never wear matching socks.
  10. My great-great-great-great-grandmother was Annie Oakley. (We call her Phoebe).
  11. I was a butt model in a PajamaJeans infomercial.
Amazing and entirely untrue! (Good thing there are never any consequences for girls who fib, innit?) ;D

P.S. A true thing: I came second in an egg and spoon race aged six. I got a certificate. (I don’t know where the certificate is anymore, though, so you’ll have to take my word for it).

Thursday, 22 November 2012

Happy Fanksgivin!

Sorry about the quietness: I’ve been having rather a busy week. (I dunno... people expectin me to work... tsk... I’ll show them when I’m Queen...)

But busy or not I want to wish all my American friends a very happy Thanksgiving Day. I hope you all have a wonderful time!

Little Penny has a message about the day, too:

Hm. I’ve just thought: should Thanksgiving be ‘Spanksgiving’ for kinky folks? I suppose it should! And I know I must be the ten millionth person to have had that thought... ;D

Sunday, 18 November 2012

Cookiee! Nom nom nom!

Yes, it’s another post about cookies. (Caution: may contain nuts. Definitely contains puns).

I think I must either be strong in the Force or just really in tune with cookie-type news. On the very same day that I posted about my lucky discovery of cut-price cheesecake and giant cookies in my friendly neighbourhood megamarket, I went on a spanky internet wander and learned of something called the ‘Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza’ (!)

The idea is for cookie-loving bloggers all over the world to post yummy recipes on their blogs on the same day (this year it’s December 6th); the recipes are then collected and posted all together on the blog of the lady behind this sweet initiative: Jz, of A Reluctant Bitch.

If you fancy chipping in, pop over to Jz’s place and drop her an email so she knows to add your blog to the mix. And (I’ve got to say it) that’s the way the cookie crumbles... :)

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Sweet treets

Now, never mind my saucy schoolgirl rear, here’s some real Penny porn. Come into my little lair... don’t mind Doggie; he barks at everyone who calls round. Into the compact and bijou kitchen, where a sneaky peek into my naughty little fridge reveals...

...omigod omigod...

...a strawberry swirl cheesecake (half price! :D) and... oh, oh... a giant TRIPLE CHOKLIT COOKIEEEEE!!

Nothing at all to do with kink; I just thought I’d share my joy at finding these yummy things on offer in the supermarket. (Plus I figured I had better take a picture sharpish as they are unlikely to be around all that long).

On an entirely unrelated note, a house on our street has put their Christmas lights up! :-O

Monday, 12 November 2012

Schoolgirl Penny: upskirt edition

Oh, all right... I can’t tease you with a long piece about my love of school uniforms and not give you a single solitary picture to look at. So here is a photo of my very own naughty derrière in a pair of innocently white knickers, peeking out from under my navy blue pleated skirt as I bend over at my teacher’s decree. I’m wearing my blazer as well, though you can’t see much of it (blame BH for zooming in on my butt, the perv):

And I know it’s hard to believe but I was spanked right after this picture was taken. Bent over and given a good, hard spanking, my defenceless little cheeks twitching and rippling under my teacher’s firm hand. And he even pulled my knickers up into a horrid wedgie, the big meanie!

So I had been naughty... and maybe a teeny, tiny, little bit cheeky... and maybe I had repeatedly disregarded my teacher’s instructions to behave... but is that really any reason to spank a girl? :)

Friday, 9 November 2012

Uniformly saucy

It’s nice being a kinky scribbler. I have spent a goodly amount of time this week immersing myself in school imagery and fantasy, poring over image after image of young ladies in various types of school uniform (for research purposes, you understand) and imagining all kinds of naughty scenes suffused with pleated skirts and pigtails. And so I thought it would be nice to write a little bit about the uniform items I myself own (and wear when I play the naughty schoolgirl).

I don’t have all that many, to be honest (though BH says I have too many): a blue gingham summer school dress, a knee-length grey pleated skirt, three mini-length pleated skirts in various colours, and a super-naughty micro-length black pleated skirt. That last one is very much a token piece of clothing: there’s constant and unavoidable bottom/panty exposure even when standing up straight in it.

I love them all, but my absolute favourite thing to wear is another item again: my black pinafore/gymslip. I adore it. It’s short and pleated at the bottom, and it flattens my chest at the top, and it is just so wonderfully... schoolgirl. I challenge anyone to wear it and feel like a strong-minded 21st century woman, rather than a 1950s boarding school pupil acutely aware that she might be given a stinging, humiliating spanking any time she misbehaves.

I’m not quite ready to pose for a full-length picture in it (apologies), so here’s the beautiful Gemma Arterton (by far the best thing in the not-especially-great St Trinian’s remakes) doing just that in a very similar dress. The only things missing are the pleats, plus my dress is a bit shorter:

Mmm! She can be my Head Girl anytime.

And what do I wear with this plain, dull, restrictive, fantastically sexy pinafore? Stuff very much like Gemma wears above: long socks (white, black or grey), white blouse, blue and gold striped tie, black buckle shoes and a maroon blazer. No padlocked collar, though. The dress and blouse were bought from high street clothes shops but the socks, tie and blazer are 100% authentic schoolwear, bought from school outfitters. The blazer even has a school crest on it. I think that the authenticity of much of the uniform helps when it comes to play, because when I put it all on, and stand blushing before my teacher, I really do feel every last inch a schoolgirl. (Or at least an adult one who lives in a twisted, kinky reality). I just totally get into that headspace. It’s remarkable, even to myself, how much my body language and thought processes and speech change. It’s as if I step wholeheartedly into the fantasy world I create in my mind, and live and breathe it for the whole time I am in my uniform. Bless BH for indulging me and playing along!

BTW, I can well understand the appeal of wearing stockings and suspenders with school-type stuff, but I have to say – with the exception of the occasions on which I wear the decidedly slutty and non-regulation microskirt – I always stick to socks. I would probably wear tights every so often, like I did in school, but I figure they might get in the way a bit when I was thrown onto the bed and, you know, ravished. With socks I am always only moments – the exact amount of time it takes to yank my knickers down, in fact – away from being interfered with. Regardless of whether I actually am interfered with or not, the awareness that it could happen just like that on my severe and sexy teacher’s whim is hugely arousing. And, sexual practicalities aside, I think my preference for socks over stockings also has something to do with a need I have to inhabit a school-based erotic fantasy where it is school first, sexualised adult second. (Not second by much, but still). Socks just seem more authentic, more prosaic, to me in a school context than stockings and suspenders.

One thing I don’t wear are ‘regulation’ knickers, I guess because the practice of wearing them to school was a bit before my time. I do have several identical pairs of completely plain and boring white knickers that I like to wear; I imagine that the effect is similar. Sometimes I wear equally plain black ones, which are also acceptable at Penny’s Fantasy School. And just every so often I wear cartoon character panties, but that’s only so I can get into trouble for wearing non-approved underwear. Okay, and so I can feel extra immature and, you know, little.

Conversely, one thing I never wore at school but now do (occasionally) is a straw boater. So Enid Blyton! It makes me want to go on a jolly adventure. As for my hair, sometimes I put it up into pigtails, sometimes I wear an Alice band, sometimes I just wear it down. (In case you were wondering, my hair is currently shoulder-length). Confession: I like it when BH pulls my hair as he fucks me from behind. Am I out of the feminist club?

A big gap in my wardrobe is games kit. I very much hope that Santa brings me a garishly-coloured netball skirt and an equally garishly-coloured shirt and socks. And a pair of horrid, thick gym knickers! That kink I do ‘get’ from experience.

If I am lucky enough to find such a gift under my tree this year, I hope that BH wastes no time in putting me into it, scolding me, and giving me a jolly good hiding. But, gym kit or no gym kit, I hope that I get to spend large parts of the holiday in some variety of school uniform, sitting (with or without a spanked bottom) at a lonely little desk, doing hour upon hour of schoolwork or just plain writing lines. Bliss.

So, that’s pretty much my school wardrobe. If any of you would like to share your own uniform favourites, I’d love to hear about them!

Sunday, 4 November 2012

Colour me impressed

What a clever and talented class of children I have. Naughty, but talented. All of the pictures you coloured during recess were very nice, so well done to all of you.

I want to give a special prize to one pupil, however, for the very best colouring work.

Look at this, everyone:

Doesn’t Tinkerbell look pretty? The shading on her dress is especially good. Notice the shading on her hair and her body, too: using light and shade like this helps make things you draw look solid, doesn’t it? And look at her little red bottom... she has obviously been spanked for being naughty, hasn’t she? I know you all know what that feels like.

Come up to the front of the room, Dana. That’s it, don’t be shy. There’s a good boy. You are a very clever little artist and you deserve recognition for your work. Here is a bag of candy and a Good Work sticker, and here is a nice big hug from teacher. And your picture will go up on the wall for the rest of term so everyone can admire it.

Wednesday, 31 October 2012

Cupcakes that go bump in the night

It’s probably the wrong day to admit it but I’m not really all that big on Halloween. My family didn’t do anything for it when I was growing up (I’ve never known the joy of hollowing out a pumpkin, but I did bob for apples at school once) and it’s just not as big a thing here in England as it is in America. I did try Trick or Treating once, aged about nine, on a friend’s insistence... got all dressed up as a cute little witch, aww... and got a bucket of cold water chucked over me at one house for my trouble. (Wa-ah!) But all that’s not to say I don’t understand the appeal of this kooky, spooky day or that I’m not envious of you lucky Yanks, going to town on it :)

And I did buy a spooky cupcake today (pictured above, haunting my mantelpiece).

So I wish everyone a Happy Halloween! May your spines be tingled and your broomsticks stay nice and stiff. And do give Spank or Treat a pop if you haven’t yet!

P.S. Here’s something to freak you out: my ghoulish cupcake has mysteriously disappeared since that photo was taken, leaving just the wrapper behind. Very spooky. I think it must have spirited itself away to a ghost convention someplace.

Monday, 29 October 2012

Miss Hasler's English Class: Recess

All right, children, you can put your pencils down now. Play nicely: remember you are still in my classroom.

Is that a new doll, Julie? She’s very pretty. That’s it, you brush her hair, dear.

Harry! Chasing Andrea round her desk is not playing nicely!

Now, I know it’s raining and horrid outside so I have an activity some of you might enjoy: colouring-in pictures! There are several on my desk for you to choose from, and a big pot of felt tips. Take whichever picture you like best and see how nicely you can colour it in.

There’s a pretty little pony:


Wonder Woman:

And a scary old haunted house, just in time for Halloween:

You can show me your drawings when they’re finished if you like. I might give a little prize for the best one.

Timmy! Don’t think I can’t see you poking Ana with that ruler! Keep it up and I’ll be colouring your bottom red, young man!

Sunday, 28 October 2012

Three in a bed

Just a little ‘me’ post today. Well, me and the two others I share chez Hasler with.

Poor Doggie hasn’t had much walkies fun today as it’s been cold and raining all day. I just tried and failed to get him outside now, but he stood on the doorstep, looked at the rain for a few moments, then turned and went back inside. It was dark too, which he doesn’t always like because it’s firework season at the moment.

Apart from the negative effect it has on walkies, I have to say I don’t mind the weather being cold and the nights drawing in. It makes me feel all snug and cosy in my little nest. And it’s good for writing. And making soup.

So why the post title? Because I have a confession. Almost every night I share my bed with not one but two males. Gasp! Who are these two studs? BH and Doggie, of course! I inherited Doggie when my Dad died last year, as my stepmother couldn’t look after so many dogs on her own (she has three dogs minus Doggie and Mrs Doggie, who sadly died earlier this year). I was chosen to look after him because he was always my favourite, and me his. (Dogs are just the best, aren’t they? I could write a hundred posts with cute stories about mine). At fourteen he is pretty settled in his ways, and one of those ways is that he sleeps with his owners. So that’s what he does with us. On the covers or under them, at the top, middle or bottom of the bed, the little guy is free to go wherever he likes. And that’s alright with us. He’s just so affectionate and smart, and I figure he just likes to be close to his loved ones. It’s amazing how much bed a little dog can take up sometimes, though!

BH and I got snuggly a couple of hours ago. No kink for once: BH wanted vanilla so that’s what we did. It was very gentle and sweet. But we weren’t alone at first... moments after we had started getting amorous a certain dawg thought he would come and see what we were doing. Just picture it, if you will: me, lying on the bed in my bra and panties; BH on top of me, kissing my neck; a cute little Jack Russell suddenly at my shoulder, putting his head between BH and me and his cold wet nose on my chest. It was so cute and funny, but we had to stop and put him downstairs – even I’m not that kinky!

I have to go and make dinner now. I hope you have all had pleasant weekends, and I hope my dear readers on the East coast of America are all right.

Thursday, 25 October 2012

24 going on 6

I had intended to put this post up yesterday but I had to quickly get ready post-work and go back out as BH surprised me with a meal out. Aww. Still, at least no post meant that Bonnie Appreciation Day lasted for two days here :)

And the idea of a day making a difference (not to mention a day of celebration for a special girl :D) is quite apposite for this little musing, as it happens.

I was born on February 28th, 1988. Things got started at about 10.30 in the morning, to be exact (I apparently interrupted my Mum’s shopping trip... typical me. I was a little bit early, hence her unpreparedness).

And this matters why? Because 1988 was a leap year, so if I had been a little more patient (say, by one day) I would have been born on February 29th. And that day only occurs once every four years.

As a nearly-leap year baby I have often wondered what that would be like. I know I would get older by a year like everyone else, but, officially speaking, I would only get a birthday every four years, as Feb 29 would disappear from the calendar for the other three. And that would make me officially six right now, rather than twenty-four.

Which would probably explain a lot.

Little Penny says: bein six is great an I got a cake on my birfday an it was pink an I wore my faverit dress an I can count to six all by myself but I need to use bofe hands cos six is...

... more than five. I dunno how menny twennyfour is but it sounds ain-shunt!

Tuesday, 23 October 2012

Bonnie Appreciation Day

What a lovely idea: a day in honour of Bonnie, the Queen of spanking bloggers! I’ve put my party dress on, put bows in my hair, and I wish everyone a very happy BAD!

Like many bloggers I owe a lot to Bonnie, and I really appreciate everything she does for this wonderful community. I can’t bake a cake so I’ve wroted a poem speshly. *bows*

To Bonnie

There’s one gal around these here parts
Who has a place deep in our hearts.
Where would we all be
Without that lady:
Dear Bonnie, of My Bottom Smarts!

Thank you, Bonnie! xx

Saturday, 20 October 2012

Miss Hasler's English Class: 5

There are many words and expressions from other languages that we use in English. The two that we are going to look at today come from Latin and are typically used in the form of abbreviations. Does anyone know what an abbreviation is? Julie?

I doubt the answer is hiding in your pencil case, dear. Yes, that is a pretty pencil topper, but it isn’t quite what I was after. Yes, I suppose it does look a bit like Harry.

Abbreviations – watch the spelling on the board – are shortened versions of words or phrases. Sometimes they are shortened right down to the first letter of the word(s). Abbreviations are similar to contractions – words like don’t and isn’t – but they differ in that they don’t need apostrophes to be added to represent the letters we have taken out.

The abbreviations that we are concerned with today are e.g. and i.e. Notice the dots after each of the letters: these show that we have taken the endings off each of the words. It doesn’t matter that the words we are abbreviating are from Latin; we do the same thing with abbreviations of ‘ordinary’ English words like prof. (short for professor) and Rev. (short for Reverend).

An interesting side note: in American English, abbreviations almost always have dots put on the end (as in Doctor = Dr. or Mister = Mr.), but in British English dots are only used when the end of the word is cut off (as in Rev. = Reverend). Doctor is shortened to Dr, without a dot at the end, as the only bit of the word missing is the middle.

Now, back to e.g. and i.e. These are two often-used Latin expressions that are often used incorrectly by being mixed up. The key thing to remember is that they have distinct meanings and are not interchangeable.

e.g. is short for ‘exempli gratia’, which means ‘for example’. It should be used just as its English equivalent would be, to introduce an example (or a number of examples) of whatever it is you are writing about:

Many animal species (e.g. the red-backed frog) are endemic to South America.
There are lots of playground games that girls can play, e.g. skipping, hopscotch, tag.

i.e. is short for ‘id est’, which means ‘that is’ or ‘in other words’. Just like its English equivalent, it should be used to introduce an explanatory point:

The temperature at which the triple point of water can occur is 273.16 Kelvin, i.e., 0.01 degrees Celsius.
Bella likes to go extreme ironing, i.e., doing her ironing in unusual or dangerous situations.

A good way of testing whether you have used e.g. or i.e. correctly or not is to put the English equivalent in instead:

My satchel is carmine, e.g., red.
My satchel is carmine, for example, red.

Does this sound right? It does not! We should use i.e. here, not e.g.:

My satchel is carmine, i.e., red.
My satchel is carmine, that is, red.

Remembering which of e.g. or i.e. to use is made easier by the Latin word exempli and the English word example being so similar. For example = e.g.

A similar trick can be used to remember that i.e. means that is.

See? Good.

Write a sentence using e.g. and another using i.e.

Knackered little writer

Phew. What a week. Told you I was busy. If there’s anything I want and need right now it’s a good long soak in a nice hot bath.

Hope you’ve all been well!

Hopefully a bit freer to write now, so the supply of Pennyish nonsense should return to normal. First up I reckon it’s time for another English lesson, so sharpen those pencils and I’ll have it up soon.

Monday, 15 October 2012

Richly deserved and badly-needed

Bit snowed under at work right now, so apologies if I go a bit quiet. I think work are trying to see how much I can cope with before I flip and go on a nude rampage through the office. (Something for you to picture, there...)

On a funner note, I was a very lucky girl on Friday night because BH gave me just what I wanted and needed. Not a meal out; not flowers; not an expensive present. What he gave me couldn’t be bought in the way that a box of chocolates could be, but it was still unquestionably a gift: one that I would have gladly traded any other for. On Friday night I was given a sound, and agonising, beating with the riding crop.

BH really does indulge me. I had been itching for a taste of the crop for ages, with my anticipation primed further by a sexy BDSM story a reader has been treating me to by email, and during this past week I have been quite simply desperate for it. As is my wont I had the whole thing envisaged exactly, right down to the sort of things I wanted BH to say, and as we lay in bed on Thursday night I told him every last detail of my sordid wish. Of course he was free to take or leave my suggestions as he liked: I’m not that much of a control freak. The only thing I absolutely insisted upon was for him not to hold back; I asked him to really let me have it.

On Friday night I got it.

Unusually for our play, there was no roleplay scene-setting or preamble: we just set ourselves up and launched straight into it. Setting me up involved stripping down to my panties and lying face down on the bed, my hips propped up by pillows. My wrists were tied to the bedposts with school ties, the ball gag was popped into my mouth and fastened securely and my panties were pulled down just past my bottom. One naughty girl, bound and helpless, ready and waiting for her thrashing, heart pounding with overwhelming anticipation.

The thrashing had three sections, as per my choreography. (Bless BH!) The first began with BH scolding me whilst teasing me with the crop, running it over my body, castigating me for my wickedness and letting me know that I would be a very sore and very sorry little bitch by the time he had finished with me. He told me that I deserved what I had coming… that I was his to do with as he pleased... all manner of wonderful, strict things that made me wild with excitement. And then, just when I was ready to burst with anticipation, WHAP! – the crop was applied to my right cheek, very hard. A long, delicious interval, with more scolding, more denigration, then WHAP! – my left buttock was scorched. Another pause, another stroke to my right cheek. The same electrifying interval, filled with BH’s scolding and my muffled whimpers, and the crop returned to my left cheek. Everything was done so deliberately and authoritatively... I was in heaven. I felt so fantastically naughty, and wretched, and horny, and owned: a wanton slavegirl being given her richly deserved and badly-needed punishment. That I was precluded from speaking by the ball gag was wonderful, and added incalculably to the intoxicating feeling of abjectness. Usually I whimper apologies and pleas when I’m spanked, but with the gag in I could only moan incomprehensibly... and BH even scolded me for doing that! (YUM!)

I was given a couple of dozen in this deliciously erotic, slow-burning manner, and then it was onto phase two.

This part dovetailed with the first in that, before that beating was over, BH calmly informed me that he would presently be inspecting my pussy... and that I would be in dire trouble if I had become aroused without permission. When the time for inspection came, without a word, but with plenty of strict authority, he yanked my panties down my thighs a few inches further and slipped his hand between my legs. A gasp of outrage – I was wickedly, shamefully wet! What a filthy little slavegirl!

As was quite proper and correct the crop was taken to me with vigour, at a much faster tempo, and the tops of my legs (freshly exposed by my panties being lowered) were treated to plenty of coruscating strokes of their own. Whereas I had remained fairly still and quiet during the first sequence, now I bucked and squirmed and pulled at my bonds and moaned with desperation into my gag. Again, I was scolded for my wickedness at doing so... (:D) It was not lost on me that, had I suddenly changed my mind and actually wanted BH to stop, I wouldn’t have been able to tell him... I was quite literally helpless and had no choice but to take whatever he saw fit to give me. Just like the wicked little wench I was pretending to be.

And I loved that. Total subjugation; total immersion into a state that I fantasise about so often. No safety net, no escape. It was thrilling.

The third and final part of the thrashing was where, just as I had asked him, BH really let me have it. No holding back, at all. Every stroke was as hard as hell, and they came very fast. It was a fearsome, pitiless thrashing. And I ABSOLUTELY LOVED it. Writhing, weeping, howling into my gag, my master caring nothing for my distress (quite the opposite, in fact: he upbraided me for my wantonness in making such a display, ohh!) I knew nothing but pain and ecstatic, transcendent, lustful delight for the entire time I was beaten. And that was, as far as I could tell, an interminably and agonisingly long time.

And then it was over.

It would of course have been ecstasy if BH had taken me there and then, while I was still bound and gagged, his hard body slamming against my agonised behind, my muffled shrieks a depraved mixture of pleasure and pain. But I had already been treated to so much, and it was time for me to treat him. I was released from my bonds and ungagged, and ordered to pleasure my master. And I did just that, with pleasure. I kissed every single inch of him, slinking round and over him like an animal. I massaged him. I licked him. And I took his big, hard cock in my wicked little mouth and gave him the best BJ I possibly could.

And then he took hold of me, laid me down on the bed, pushed my legs apart and fucked my brains out. Maybe he should have put the gag back on me, because I howled up a storm.

Lying curled up with him afterwards, utterly blissful and content, my ass quite simply glowing, I thought how I wouldn’t have swapped places with anyone in the world.

Saturday, 13 October 2012

Penny's Masquerade at the Boys' School: Chapter III

Penny might be a plucky gal but she is really up to her chestnut curls in it this time. Caught in the act of ransacking a boy’s study and curtly exposed as a girl masquerading as a schoolboy, she must explain herself to the entire Fifth Form... whatever will become of her?


“CORKS! A female! A girl – a real one!”

There came exclamations and chuckles from all sides as Penny stood there, feeling near to tears now.

She had hoped so much that she would clear Jimmy’s name, but now she had failed – hopelessly. And what would be the consequences for herself when uncle learnt of this masquerade at the Boys’ School?

Would it mean the end of her stay in Greenvale; the end of all her hopes at the agency with Uncle Mark?

And Jimmy – what would he think?

She became aware then that Stringer had fallen back now, a look of utter surprise on his thin face. Another boy, a boy with crisp brown hair and rugged complexion, stepped forward, taking command.

“Somebody close that door – and shut up, you asses! Do you want to bring Woody here? We’ve got to find out what this is all about.”

Penny faced him knowing that here was a boy she could trust.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “And what were you doing dressed up like that? If Stringer had been stupid enough to hit you, then you would have been in trouble. What were you doing in Stringer’s study?”

Penny squared her shoulders and, with a cold glance at Stringer, she turned again to the other boy.

“I’m Penny Dale – I’m helping matron out for a few days. I-I had to go to the detention room and –”

“Ah-hah! So Jimmy’s in it, is he?” breathed the other boy. “Yes; go on.”

“Well, I found Jimmy trying to get out of the window.” And now she kept her gaze fixed on the pale face of Stringer as she spoke. “He told me he was innocent of that silly trick of painting the statue and that someone had tricked him into getting blamed. He had a clue to the identity of that person – and he was going to search for something that would help him prove it.”

There was a mutter from the others, but the brown-haired boy nodded.

“Is that why you were here?” he asked slowly. “You were searching in here for that something?”

“Yes. Yes, I was,” Penny told him, and looked straight into Stringer’s pale eyes. “But it seems it’s hidden somewhere else.”

“Well, Stringer, I guess she means you, and I’m not surprised,” the other boy said, turning to Stringer, whose face now had assumed a dull flush. “We all know you and we all know your nasty ways. I must say I couldn’t believe it of old Jimmy himself. By the way, Penny, I’m Bob – Bob Danvers. What exactly was it that you were looking for?”

Again Penny met Stringer’s gaze and she saw that light of fear momentarily flash into his eyes.

“A pair of shoes,” she told him steadily. “A pair of shoes with pink paint on them, where the trickster had accidentally stepped into the paint he upset.”

And then she saw, with a quick feeling of disappointment, the relief that crossed Stringer’s face.

“You can search till Doomsday, you won’t find any shoes like that in here,” he told her. “Ford spun you a yarn, right enough. I bet he was trying to run away when you caught him.”

Penny saw Bob Danvers look curiously down at Stringer’s feet.

“Wait a minute; they’re not everyday shoes you’re wearing,” he said slowly. “That’s the pair of weekend shoes you bought recently –”

Involuntarily Stringer bent down and Penny saw the flush on his face deepen. At the same time his top pocket spilled its contents on to the floor – pen, pencil, rubber and – a box of matches.

“So what?” he returned. “I’m having the others repaired.”

Penny bent down, picking up the box of matches before Stringer could get his fingers on it. Curiously she looked at them, noticing the faint white dust on the box; and the faint aroma of –

“Wood smoke,” she murmured, and then slowly looked at Stringer. “I wonder – is it possible –” a sudden memory had flashed through her mind. “I believe I know where –” she began, and then trailed off as, meeting his frightened gaze, she knew he knew what she had guessed.

“Boys! I believe I’ve got it!” she cried suddenly.

Without further thought she was at the door; had wrenched it open. There was no time to be lost now. She could hear Stringer’s footsteps pounding after her, followed by the rest of the form.

She tore down the stairs, almost charging into the tall, stout figure of Doctor Woodstock at the bottom. With a hurried apology she raced on, ignoring his command to stop.

Now she was in the open and without waiting to see if she was being followed, made off in the direction of the kitchen garden.

The faint aroma of the bonfire she had smelt in matron’s room grew stronger till, rounding the corner of the gardener’s shed, she came upon it – a great pile of smouldering rubbish. Arising from the pile wafted that smell – of rubber.

Frantically she looked round for a stick; found one and, even as the whole of the Fifth came racing up, an angry Doctor Woodstock now in tow, she was raking the bonfire.

And then, with a feeling of joy, from the centre, she brought forth what she had been looking for – a pair of smouldering shoes – the tang of burning coming from the rubber soles, the whole of the sole and uppers of one shoe completely covered with bright pink paint!

She lifted the shoe up on the end of the stick, as Doctor Woodstock pushed his way through the staring throng.

“What is going on here?” he demanded. “You, boy – no, by ginger, it’s Miss Dale! What on earth do you think you are doing?”

“I’m trying to right a wrong,” she told him forcefully. “Look, sir – see the pink paint on the sole of this shoe? These shoes belong to the real culprit who painted your statue. He threw them on here, hoping they’d burn and never be found, that he would get away with it – while an innocent boy was unjustly suspended from the school. The real culprit’s name should be inside these shoes!”

She peered into the shoe, and there, visible though very faint was a name – printed in marking ink:

“Leslie Stringer!” she cried triumphantly. “That’s the boy who did it!”

As Penny prepared to leave the school that afternoon to return home she grinned to herself, though a little wistfully. From the direction of the tuckshop came the sounds of a bumper party to celebrate Jimmy’s freedom from the detention room.

She had not had the chance to see him herself and felt a little disappointed that she had not been able to congratulate him.

She mounted her cycle and moved off towards the gates. And there, to her surprise she found a figure waiting – a figure who stood, tall and smiling, hands behind his back, directly in her path.

She pulled up beside him, meeting his blue eyes.

“Hallo,” he greeted, and she was conscious of a sudden shyness. “I-I’ve been looking out for you. I couldn’t let you go without thanking you. If it hadn’t been for you I’d probably have been on my way home by now.”

“I’m glad I was able to – to help you, Jimmy,” Penny said softly.

There was an awkward little silence, then he smiled.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get back to the party,” he said, and then suddenly brought his hand from behind his back, and her eyes widened as she saw the big box of chocolates he was handing her. “Please take it,” he said quietly. “It – it’s just a little present – with my thanks. I-I’ll never forget.”

And while she stared at him, dumbfounded, conscious of the mistiness in her eyes, he was gone, striding back along the path towards the tuckshop.

For some moments Penny gazed after him, then, with a little warm feeling inside, she remounted and cycled out of the school gates.

Wednesday, 10 October 2012

Penny's Masquerade at the Boys' School: Chapter II

What a pickle silly Penny has got herself into this time... whoever would have thought that sneaking around a boys’ school in disguise to solve a mystery and get a crush out of trouble would lead to more trouble?

Everyone except Penny? Oh.


“YOU! Boy!” the voice came again. “Didn’t you hear me?”

Penny’s decision came without a thought for herself. She had to bluff her way out – for Jimmy’s sake.

Swiftly she half turned and, in the deepest voice she could manage, answered: “Sorry, sir. Going up to the study.”

“No time now, boy. Come along – out in the quad – the rest of the boys are on their way already.”

Penny felt rooted to the spot. What to do now?

“Come along, boy! What’s wrong with you? Down at once – and join the others. You’ll be late – don’t keep the professor waiting!”

There was nothing for it. Penny turned and retraced her steps slowly down the stairs, keeping her head down. The master stood at the bottom but, now that he knew she was coming, he turned away slightly, and Penny hurried quickly past him and outside into the quad.

And there she pulled up in surprise and dismay.

Instead of a deserted quad, there was now a line of boys in green blazers moving off towards the school gates, an elderly, white-haired man bringing up their rear.

He glanced at Penny curiously and Penny felt a wild desire to run. She turned and found herself looking at the master, who was now standing by the door.

“Come along now. We mustn’t waste time.”

The old gentleman called her snappily and, with one last despairing glance, Penny had to join him.

This, she gathered, as she walked along beside him, was the professor, and the boys were going to nearby Stanfield Abbey for an archaeological lesson. Fortunately the professor was slightly short-sighted and, to Penny’s relief, was much more interested in what he was saying than in whether the boys were listening. He did not seem to notice her, let alone suspect.

But she was dreadfully conscious of the stares of the other boys and when at last the professor left her to speak to another boy, she found herself beside a tall, fair-haired youth.

He gave her a dig in the ribs, making her wince.

“New boy, eh?” he sniggered unpleasantly. “Crawling round the masters, eh?”

Penny did not reply, but felt her spine tingle as he gave her another spiteful dig in the ribs.

“Hey, Stringer, leave the kid alone!” came another voice and for a moment the boy beside her moved away, only to return a moment later.

So that’s Stringer, thought Penny. What a horrid type – I can quite believe that he’d let Jimmy take the blame for what he’d done! But he won’t get away with it – not if I can help it! she told herself.

Somehow, she thought, she’d got to get away – she must get back to school and search the fair-haired boy’s study while she had the chance. If she could find that shoe in his study –

It was difficult to find the opportune moment however, for Stringer himself kept his eye on her and was never far away, casting disparaging remarks. But at last, when the professor had drawn the form’s attention to some particular point, she seized her chance. She slipped behind a stone pillar and a few moments later was sprinting back towards the school.

She went in through the main gate and noticed for the first time the statue of Doctor Wallice, painted a bright cherry pink.

A wooden barricade guarded it now and Penny just had time to spot the footprint Jimmy had mentioned. There was only one print, she noticed and guessed that the owner of the shoe had realised it would give him away and had taken the shoe off.

Penny hurried on to Winton House and this time reached Study 5 without attracting attention.

She lost no time in making a search of the cupboards, trying to read Stringer’s mind. Where was the obvious place to hide a shoe? After five minutes’ careful searching there was still no clue. Had she made a mistake after all?

She straightened at last with a feeling of hopelessness; a feeling that she had let Jimmy down. She started towards the door, but even as she did so she stopped dead, breath caught in her throat.

There were voices outside; footsteps. And then without warning, the door was thrust open and Stringer, a crowd of Fifth formers on his heels, came racing in, only to pull up dead in front of her as she faced them, heart racing, face pale.

“So!” Stringer stood towering above her, hands on hips. “So the new boy likes to pry, does he? I thought you weren’t to be trusted! I think the new boy will have to be taught a lesson, don’t you?” he asked of the others.

Penny’s breath came fast as there came a general assent.

“The new boy will have to learn that that sort of thing just isn’t done,” he went on silkily. “Come along – get your jacket off!”

He was already peeling off his blazer, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Penny stood as if turned to stone. She was utterly transfixed.

The boys looked at her; there was a mutter. Insolently Stringer stepped forward.

“Come now – not a coward, are we?” And with a quick flick of his hand he sent her cap flying.

Penny bit her lip, her hands clenching as the chestnut curls fell round her ears.

There was a gasp; dead silence. Then –

“Jumping firecrackers! It – it’s a girl!”

Sunday, 7 October 2012

Penny's Masquerade at the Boys' School: Chapter I

Would you Adam and believe it? There I was, tucked up in bed reading awfully super and exciting vintage girl’s own stories, when – gosh! – I came across one in which a plucky gal with a certain name goes undercover in a boys’ school to help save a poor wronged chap from suspension. As one does. Lawks!

Needless to say, it’s wonderful. I’ve transcribed the text and will post each of the three chapters for you to enjoy here, including the illustrations for extra atmosphere. Feel that 1950s boarding school goodness!


“THIS is going to be fun,” chuckled Penny Dale, her grey eyes sparkling. “Fancy going back to school for a few days – even though it is only a boys’ school.”

Penny was busy sewing new buttons on a small pile of green blazers in the matron’s room at Greenvale Boys’ School, while matron, a plump, motherly woman, sorted bundles of school clothes fresh from the cleaners.

Matron’s usual assistant had suddenly been called away home and the headmaster, Doctor Woodstock, had phoned Uncle Mark, who ran the “Can We Help You?” agency in Greenvale, to engage a temporary assistant for a couple of days until her return. Penny, to her delight, had been asked to fill the vacancy.

Matron, humming a little song to herself, was checking that the boys’ names were on all their garments. After a while she paused, sniffing the air. Penny looked up too.

“Good gracious, someone’s burning rubber,” matron remarked. “It’s probably the gardener – he’s always got a bonfire going at the end of the kitchen garden. We’d better close the window.”

Penny needed no urging. The smell, though faint and far distant, was distinctly unpleasant.

Then she put the finished pile of blazers on one side.

“What do you want me to do now?” she asked.

Matron thought quickly.

“You’d better go up to the detention room and ask Jimmy Ford how his knee is. He hurt it yesterday during football.” She paused. “Poor Jimmy,” she said softly, then went on quickly. “By the time you come back I shall have gone down to the kitchens to supervise the dinners. I’ll be some time – you can get on with some mending, if you would.”

Penny nodded half-heartedly. It didn’t sound much fun after all!

She made her way up the broad oak staircase to the upper floor, turned into a long corridor and at the far end came upon a door, ominously lettered “Detention Room.”

Matron had given her the key and she slipped it quickly into the lock; turned the handle. The door opened and Penny stepped inside, only to pull up with a little cry of amazement.

The lower half of the windows on the opposite side of the room was barred, but the upper part, a wide fanlight, was pushed open, and half way through it, his legs dangling outside while he frantically tried to squeeze out, was a boy.

“What on earth are you trying to do?” Penny could not help the grin that spread over her face. “Are you coming or going?”

“Ass,” the boy growled. “Here – give me a hand – I’m coming back! It’s no use!”

Quickly Penny stretched out her hands to grasp his wrists and, with a few terrible grunts and groans, the window seemed to release its hold and he stood before her, eyeing her quizzically.

“Well! Well!” he smiled, brushing his jacket. “What’s this? A girl? And I’m leaving the school – gosh! What I’ll be missing!”

Penny flushed, conscious of the admiring softness in his blue eyes. He ran a hand through his thick, black wavy hair.

“Now I suppose you’ll have to report that I was making an escape,” he sighed. “I don’t know who you are, but –”

“I’m Penny Dale – I’m helping matron out while the other girl is away,” Penny began, then flushed again as an amused gleam flashed into the boy’s eyes and he chuckled: “Hm! Lucky for us if she doesn’t come back, eh?”

“Be serious,” Penny chided. “What were you trying to do? I shan’t report you – I wouldn’t do anything like that. But what’s it all about? Matron was talking about ‘poor Jimmy.’ That’s you, of course?”

“That’s me,” he nodded. “I’m Jimmy Ford, Fifth Form – and a first class prize ass at the moment.”

“Why? What have you done? Why are you here?” asked Penny curiously, finding herself instantly liking this black-haired Fifth-former.

“When you came in this morning – did you come in by the main gate?” he asked.

“No. By the side gate on the Greenvale Road –”

“Then you didn’t see the founder’s statue – painted pink!” he told her, and his voice was grim. “Some fool did it last night, then I got tricked – clot that I am – and turned up at the statue expecting to meet someone, and old Woody himself turned up. I’d found the pot of paint there and picked up the brush, not thinking and – well, you can guess! Woody’s convinced I did it – and here I am. I gather the Head’s been on to my dad – wants to suspend me.”

“Oh, golly, how awful!” Penny sympathised. “And you didn’t do it! But where did you intend to go, just now?” she asked.

“The chap who did it stepped into the paint, because it had been upset on the ground and I noticed a footprint. I was going to find out where that shoe was and expose the real culprit.”

“But had you any idea where to look?” Penny wanted to know, and Jimmy nodded his head.

“Yes. My guess is that it was Stringer who did it. I was going to look in Study 5 in Winton House. Stringer’s had a down on me for weeks now, and yesterday was the final straw. I was picked for the school football team and he wasn’t – except as a reserve. I reckon he cooked up this latest trick hoping I’d be detained for a week, or something – but instead the Head’s taken it more seriously.”

Penny’s sharp eyes caught the sudden clenching of his hands.

“This is going to be a blow to my father, too,” he said softly. “Greenvale is his old school, and he wanted me to make good.”

“Well you wouldn’t help yourself much if you got out of here and then got caught,” Penny told him and, even as she said it, an idea occurred to her. She instinctively liked Jimmy; she felt he was telling the truth, and she wanted to help him. “Look here, you tell me where to look and I’ll find that shoe for you!”

Jimmy’s eyes opened wide. He gazed steadily down at her.

“You – you believe me, then? You’d help me – just like that?” he asked softly, and Penny, conscious of her burning cheeks, nodded.

“Yes. I believe you, and – and I’ll help you if I can,” she told him.

But suddenly he turned away, breathing deeply.

“Oh, what’s the use, anyhow? You’d never be able to get away with it!” he said. “A girl wandering about Winton House – no, you’d be in trouble yourself in no time, and I wouldn’t have that.”

Penny’s eyes suddenly sparkled, and she caught his arm.

“Perhaps they’d notice a girl – but they wouldn’t notice a – a boy, would they?” she asked him gleefully.

For a moment he smiled.

“What plan have you got whizzing round in that curly head of yours?” he demanded. “Come on, out with it – tell uncle.”

“Matron has just got a load of clothes back from the cleaners,” Penny told him. “I’m going to borrow some – disguise myself as a boy and then wait my opportunity and look around for those shoes.”

“You can’t! You’ll never get away with it!” he gasped.

But Penny was already at the door.

“You can’t stop me,” she grinned. “Gosh, what fun!”

“But if you’re caught –” he broke in. “The trouble –”

For a moment Penny wavered, thinking what would happen if she were sent back to Uncle in disgrace. But she thrust the thought to the back of her mind. Jimmy must be cleared!

And before the boy could say another word the door was locked and Penny’s footsteps were fading.

Minutes later Penny reached matron’s room. Matron was away supervising lunch and quickly Penny changed into a pair of grey flannels, slipped a green blazer over her blouse, found a scarf to wind round her neck and then pushed her chestnut curls under a cap. A glance in the mirror brought a chuckle to her lips.

Swiftly, knowing that there was no time to lose, she hurried from School House and crossed the quad to Winton House. All was quiet; the boys were at lessons. Jimmy had said the shoes would probably be hidden in Study 5, she remembered.

She made for the stairs and silently crept up them. She had reached the top when, down below, a door opened. A voice, stern and imperious, reached her ears.

“Hey, you, boy! Where do you think you are going? Come down!”

Penny, heart turning cold, stood stock still. What was she to do now – would she be caught? Would this mean disgrace – an end to Jimmy’s hopes?