Sunday, 8 April 2012

Spanky sports: real-life edition

I (and many others) like to write about school: about schoolgirls, and teachers, and detentions, and spankings. Of course we do – it’s a fun, sexy thing to write about! But real school life, at least in my case, didn’t really compare to the fantasy versions found in spanking fiction.

For a start, I was never spanked as the practice had been discontinued by the time I might have been a candidate for it. But that didn’t mean I didn’t think about it. I’ve written before that, even while I was a girl at school, I envied those pupils of earlier times who received corporal punishment. And I really, really did. I often secretly fantasised about being punished by my teachers (and sometimes by my classmates); being spanked in my uniform with my knickers yanked down, the archetypal naughty schoolgirl. But it never happened. The closest I came was with an Art teacher who threatened – in an ‘is she kidding or not?’ kind of way – to spank me. (The beginning of ‘Long Overdue’, one of the stories in Back to School, is actually a semi-autobiographical version of this episode, with the student’s gender switched to male. I wish to this day that I’d been brave enough to find out if that teacher really was kidding or not).

Yet despite (or perhaps because of) the absence of CP in my school life, as time went on the desire to be spanked only grew stronger. By the time I was a teenager I was desperate for a spanking. My only realistic option to satisfy that urge, as far as I could see, was self-spanking. But where and when could I do it? That question, dear reader, had a rather unlikely answer...

As part of our PE (Physical Education) classes we would occasionally go on cross-country runs. These were runs of a few miles around the land surrounding the school: through fields, over stiles, down country lanes, all very muddy. (And very cold, as they were only ever done in the depths of winter, so your fingers would be frozen by the time you got back to the changing rooms. But then the PE teachers were all sadists). And I couldn’t have cared less about them. Winning was never important to me, especially when it was at something as uninteresting as running.

The runs were entirely unsupervised: we would be untidily assembled at a vague starting point, told to set off, then left to make our own way round. Not that I minded this lack of supervision. Quite the opposite, actually, as it transformed the run from a pointless drudge into an opportunity. As someone who was a) developing as a spanko and b) entirely unfussed about actually racing, the cross-country seemed (to my pubescent mind at least) to present a rare chance to grab a little kinky ‘me time’.

And so it was that, one winter’s morning, I took my opportunity. I dawdled and ambled away from the start, deliberately letting everyone else get ahead. (I remember thinking how annoyingly slow some girls were!) The course was always the same, and I knew that after about half a mile it went through some woods and over a stream: it was in this secluded spot that I stopped. Glancing around to make sure I was alone, I knelt down on the cold earth, pulled my shorts and knickers down and, well, spanked myself. It felt so very strange and daring and naughty to be spanking my own bare bottom, out in the open – in the elements, as it were, cold and wet and muddy beside a babbling stream – and moreover to be doing it in direct opposition to what I should have been doing. It was thrilling. Of course, that exciting feeling was mixed with one of anxiety: I was very aware that I would be immeasurably embarrassed, simply mortified, if anyone was to stumble across me and spot what I was doing, but I couldn’t resist doing it all the same. And any anxiety I might have felt couldn’t compete with the compulsion to continue. If anything, it was subsumed into an overall sense of naughtiness: an intoxicating feeling that simply made me more aroused and made me spank myself harder. My other hand, I will confess, did slip between my legs before very long.

I spanked and masturbated for several minutes, guiltily revelling in my own depravity, until I heard what I assumed to be someone approaching. I pulled my knickers and shorts back up and set off again on the run, miles behind the pack and almost certain to come last. I can’t remember if I did finish last or not – I might have caught some stragglers up, as I was quite fast when I wanted to be. But I honestly couldn’t have cared either way.

Now, I’d like the story to end with teenage Penny getting a ferocious scolding and a spanking from an infuriated teacher, like the fantasy spankings I get from the strict Miss Sharapova, but that didn’t happen. To be honest, I hardly think the PE teachers knew (or cared) that I existed at all, as I wasn’t one of their chosen ones. (The feeling was mutual: I didn’t care for PE or its teachers so I didn’t try). I guess they just thought I went round slowly because I was useless. If only they had known how to motivate me...

This is the first time I’ve ever told anyone this particular tale from my school days, by the way. If any readers have opinions on what should have been done with me (or if you have any similar experiences to recount yourself), please share!


  1. Immeasurably embarrassed. Simply mortified. I think that, unless one were actually caught spanking their own bare bottom in the woods, immeasurably embarrassed is as good a description for the feelings as can be managed. What a naughty girl you were. I love your candor, and I thank you for the mental images I now have of a schoolgirl's solitary adventures that winter morning. I also imagine that you were caught by a teacher, and that you received the proper spanking you had coming.

  2. There's something about sport and spankings that seem to go together. The much missed Bared Affair featured many stories and articles combining sport with spanking. I've been fortunate enough to be able to present some of them on my blog.
    I do remember a story I heard about Ian Fleming (the author of the James Bond) books and how he was scheduled for a beating at school (I think it was Eton) which clashed with the cross country race for which he was a favourite. He negotiated to have his beating brought forward, which was administered and then he competed. I believe he may have won, but legend has it that he crossed the finish line with blood still running down his legs from the earlier beating.

  3. In my fantasy, Penelope volunteers to help out coaching at the community college near her home. She runs with the girls, urging them on, and soon they treat her as one of their own.

    The coach, the eagle-eyed Miss Sharapova, considers Penny one of the girls too, and is dissappointed when she spies Penny clowning around in the showers with the other girls. Penny is confused when her boss/teacher calls her out of the shower, and makes her stand in her office wearing nothing but a shortie gym towel until the other girls leave. The confusion is lifted when Miss Sharapova opens her desk, and takes out a well worn tawse...

  4. Ooh, that sounds lovely! Thrashed naked by the sexy Miss Sharapova... pitilessly scolded for my shameful behaviour in the shower... the sort of thing dreams are made of.

    Aunty Andrea: there's definitely something to it! I hereby volunteer myself to investigate the phenomenon further... starting with checking those stories on your blog out :)

    TFD: thank you for the kind words, and I'm very glad you enjoyed my little confessional tale. I love your blog, by the way - some really interesting stuff there; just the sort of thing I've tried to get towards with my 'kinky thinks' posts. I hope you write more sometime xx

  5. Wow Penny, what a story! I've come over quite tingly. I remember cross country too. We used to deliberately fall over in the mud so that we'd get really dirty.
    Hot communal showers at the end after a verbal dressing down from the PE teachers for the last runners home (usually me among them).
    If I was one of your teachers I'd have followed you round, convinced you were up to some naughtiness. And catching you spanking and fiddling I'd have found myself a nice whippy willow switch and thrashed you so hard you'd beg for forgiveness!

  6. But if you would have been caught -even though it would have been horrible-I bet you would have felt a little thrill for the public humiliation of it.
    I 0nce talked to someone who shared my fetish for "the hook" and "trapdoor" scenarios. He said when he was in school they put on a show that was a vaudeville tribute. For his act he was actually "given the hook"-he went on stage sang badly-and planted people in the audience to yell "give him the hook!" then a girl dragged him off stage with a big cane.
    talk about living out a fantasy! But I guess it was such a turn on he had to masturbate furiously before every performance.
    This was also in the U.K. What is it about the Brits that make you love public humiliation so much?

  7. Hehe, you and that hook!

    I can't speak for every Brit, but I personally think that the thrill of public humiliation – or at least the idea of it – comes in part from the transgression of social norms; the violation of societal propriety. (These things still matter, even in the 21st century). By its very nature, public humiliation makes one the focus of the transgression, with obvious and inescapable implications for one's dignity.

    If Brits are particularly responsive to the idea, I'd say it was because our culture is still a bit buttoned-up. Oh no, thought Miss Hasler - the entire garden party can see my knickers! I shall never live this down as long as I live! What will the ladies on the Choral Society committee think?

    OFG: you've made me tingly in return! How I wish you had been my teacher - a thrashing with a willow switch in the woods! Ohh! Running suddenly seems far more interesting :)

    I must say, your cross country experience sounds very different to mine, with close supervision by teachers who actually cared. And it sounds like you needed it - getting deliberately dirty, indeed! Miss Hasler the PE teacher would take a very dim view of that behaviour!

  8. Switching subjects for a mo, to further illustrate the couldn't-care-less attitude of my teachers... one lesson that was worse than PE was Home Economics.

    Our school had two (or maybe three) brand new, expensive-looking kitchen classrooms. Do you know how many things I actually cooked in the three years we did Home Ec? (We had one class a week).


    Oh, there was one week when we were allowed to make tea and toast (!), but I couldn't take part as I hadn't brought my apron (!!). I can't imagine why I felt bringing it in might be unnecessary. After a year of doing so and not getting to put it on.

    I can only assume that the teachers didn't want their nice, new kitchen equipment to get dirty by being used. The lessons were entirely book-based: we would sit on high stools, textbooks resting on the immaculate food preparation counters, and read for an hour. I can only remember one specific moment as it was so completely bizarre: the lesson was on the eating arrangements of prehistoric man, and I remember a black-and-white line drawing of a sabre-toothed tiger in my book, and I remember thinking "This can't be right."

    P.S. I made tea and toast for breakfast before school every morning. Without wearing an apron. Imagine!

  9. A very intersting entry indeed Penny,However should you have attended the establishment i resided you would have had no need for self spankings.For i myself would have found plenty of genuine resons to frequently soundly spank and cane your bare bottom, to insure the most perfectly turned out young woman was the final result. This may seem a little to severe but i only engage in the first instance to insure perfection is the top priority on any agenda. Correction Man.

  10. fun to read... but only best to imagine being caught.. other school mates might have been terrible with you for the reminder of your school career.

  11. Maybe... my kinky school experiences do live in that twilight world of nearly-but-not-quite; the ethereal realm of almost realised desire. And that's a very sexy place.

    Personally, I think it would have been worth it!