This cover of an old Janus publication represents a pivotal moment in my life. I have never actually read the book and I have no idea what is in it. But I saw it one summer at a caravan site shop when I was 16. I didn’t work up the nerve to buy it and probably wouldn’t have been sold it anyway.
However, beyond the joy or several surreptitious passes of the shelf while I looked at comics what it represented was that somewhere out there in the world someone was writing books about spanking. To those that were born in a post-Internet world it is hard to convey what that means.
Filed under: real life, retro | 13 Comments
Justice is swift.
The house was tall and forbidding. The grubby yellow London Brick was detailed here and there with what once have been high status red edging. But it had been 50 years since its glory days and now the old school for the daughters of the gentlefolk was not what it was.
Marcus La Grange, a lean arrow straight giant of a man, had presided over the establishment since before the Great War. But now like his school was feeling his age and his once thick mid brown hair was more grey than dark and his hairline had receded. He coughed violently and had to reach for his handkerchief. The fit was a short one this time and the spots of blood weren’t as bad.
“Are you alright Sir?” Grace Hammond asked him.
She was a senior girl, now beyond 18 and who would be leaving them soon. Her solicitousness was out of character and he had no doubt that she was trying to curry favour.
La Grange eyed her suspiciously until she dipped her head to avoid his gaze.
“Don’t worry about me girl,” he growled.
He had once had high hopes for the girl. Despite her wild eyes and cheeky demeanour, she was from a good family, but for a young woman about to leave them she was immature and feckless. He noted the stray strand of dark hair that had come adrift to brush her collar.
“I cannot abide bullies,” he said sharply, scanning the girl for a hint of regret.
“Oh Mable Mossop is so wet Sir,” Grace said in a tone of bored exasperation.
“So you have the right to wash her head in a lavatory bowl and leave her sat and helpless in the paper towel basket?” La Grange challenged her. The poor girl had been distraught and had left in girls’ cloakroom for over 30 minutes until the matron had found her.
Grace shrugged and made to chew at her lower lip.
“I take it you don’t deny it then?” La Grange said quietly.
“No Sir,” Grace sighed.
“Let’s have you then,” he growled reaching for the ever-present cane on his desk.
It was the senior grade one, the one for swift justice. The thin junior cane was for reprimands or persuasion only, but Grace had admitted her fault and the reckoning would be final.
Grace coloured and with an awkward reluctance moved her hands under her skirt and tug at her charcoal school knickers. She knew the drill and as she bent over the leather easy chair she lifted her grey pleated skirt from the back.
La Grange finished the job by tucking the hem into her green cardigan to expose her pale round bottom cheeks so cheekily jutting back at him. A younger man would have been distracted by her feminine charms.
“You have form in this area don’t you girl?” he growled, “And I detect no hint of remorse.”
Acutely embarrassed and as awkward a virgin curate at a wedding, Grace blushed and desperately pressed her heels together to hide any inadvertent ‘show.’
“A baker’s dozen I think girl,” La Grange announced and sliced the first stroke home.
Grace emitted a girlish grunt and rode the pain as a reddish line developed on her bare bottom.
At five or six second intervals the cane fell fiercely, each drawing an ever more shrill gasp from the girl until she was wailing fit to sob under the onslaught.
Once there were six plum lines puffed up on her bottom he paused while she struggled with her tears. Then once he sure she was feeling it he delivered another seven.
Through a cascade of silent tears Grace sniffed her thanks and extended her hand to shake his.
“You’re welcome Miss Hammond,” La Grange said breezily, “Let that be a lesson to you.”
“Yes Sir, thank you sir,” Grace said miserably.
It was 50 years later and La Grange House had long since been repaired. Unlike the 1920s, the 1970s was a new age and the local authority had invested heavily in the halfway house. This was before the indifference of the Thatcherite 80s and the disgorging of former care home inmates onto the streets.
La Grange House was a temporary accommodation for young women freshly discharged form orphanages and other youth facilities while they looked for work and a place to live.
Pam hated it. The other girls were all wankers or sad little misfits who would never amount to anything. At 18 she was a drop dead gorgeous blonde and she was going places. Which places she hadn’t quite fixed upon, no doubt some millionaire boyfriend would pick up the tab for it. If all else failed she would make a few quid as a beautician.
“Pam, some of us are organising a disco in the common room,” Tracy Parker said from nowhere. The reedy little twerp had a reedy little voice to match and Pam winced.
“Fuck off,” she spat.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Angela said coming up the hall.
Angela was Miss Goody Two Shoes and speccy with it.
“You can fuck off too four eyes.” Pam didn’t wait for the smart mouth answer and shoved Angela hard and when she didn’t react, shoved her again so that she tumbled back down the half step.
“You think you are so much better than the rest of us,” Pam yelled.
“No,” Angela sighed getting to her feet, “You think I am so much better than you and I am not. We are all here together, we can help each other.”
The slap came from nowhere and if Angela hadn’t fallen down again Pam would have pounded her to the floor.
As Pam stormed off up the hall to the stairs to her room Angela went to call after her but was stopped by the appearance of an adult in the shadows beyond the staircase.
“Jim?” she called, but blinking she realised there was no one there.
“Bloody Pam has slapped me batty,” she groaned as she dusted herself off.
Pam was awoken somewhere around six but could not fathom why. For a second she fancied that she heard a small stampede of young feet outside her door, but that was crazy, no one got up this early at La Grange. Then her door knocked hard.
“Who is it?” she called.
The door knocked again harder. The clock said: 6.04.
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” she yelled, “Fuck off.”
The man who entered was unknown to her. Stranger still she couldn’t quite fix on him as if he was in shadow despite the light from the hall.
“Bullying and now obscene language,” he said angrily, “On your feet girl.”
“I didn’t know did I? I thought… who are you anyway?” Pam said in irritation.
“I said, stand up,” the man barked at her.
With a surly roll of her eyes Pam staggered to her feet and yawned.
“You’re not supposed to be in here, this is…” she mumbled, not really caring.
“I will not have such behaviour in my school,” the man snarled.
“Your school?” Pam gaped.
It was only then that she saw the cane. Was this a joke? Now she came to think of it the man looked out of place… no not just that… out of time.
“Turn around and bend over,” she was told.
He snorted in disbelief. The man was clearly ancient she would have known this was a joke.
“Bend and bare for 12 or I will give you 18,” the man said commandingly as he slashed the air with the thin stick in his hand.
“Are you nuts?” Pam gasped, but without another word she felt herself spun around and without realising it she was bending over in the middle of her room. The pyjama bottoms dragged to her ankles almost by themselves and she was dizzy with confusion.
“I suggest you grab your ankles,” the man growled.
As Pam obeyed she almost felt as if she was someone else for the moment.
“Please Sir,” she wailed.
“Please nothing,” the voice snapped, “Make ready.”
A line of pain like a blade sliced her bare bottom and she squealed. Only her hands seizing her ankles stopped her shooting bolt upright. That left her bottom jutting for another stroke.
“Ummmgh,” she grunted, never having felt a sting like it.
There were six more in quick succession and Pam was quickly left gasping for breath and contending with a wash of tears.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she bawled as the cane continued to bite.
An age and a half passed and had Pam ben in a position to consider anything, she might I have wondered why no one came to investigate the noise.
“Alright, that’s enough,” the voice said wearily.” Now shake my hand.”
A sobbing Pam stood up and turned to face her tormentor, but there was nobody there. The clock read: 6.04.
Without pulling up her pyjama’s she dashed to the door and opened it. The house was quiet. She felt foolish standing half naked in the hallway, but her bottom still throbbed unmercifully and her tears would not abate.
An inspection of her bottom in the bathroom mirror revealed a swathe of dark purple welts standing out on the curves of her skin as corrugations.
“Jesus f…” she bit her tongue at the F word and hastily looked around her, “This is bat… crazy,” she sniffed, then finally she went back to bed, although this time she took care to lie on her tummy.
Filed under: DJB stories, education, M/F, other worldly, spanking stories | 4 Comments
Tags: ghosts, school, spanking, the cane
I have been trying to write this post all day, but it isn’t happening is it?
I am going to quit while I’m ahead.
Dallas is having a sale of some of his scenes, I have included a couple of images. The other images were found at: the Spanking Blog, About Spanking, Real Spanking, Scarlet’s Real Magic, Devlin O’Neil, Au Fils des Jours, CutiePie, Spanking Blogg, Spanking Starlets and an old favourite from Yeowch.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 1 Comment
Part 1 here
“Where did you hang it?” John asked as Carolynn arrived for her weekly meeting with him.
“Sorry?” she asked glancing at her notes as if she had forgotten something.
“The gift I gave you?” John frowned.
The framed lines, he meant, she now realised and averted her eyes in discomfort.
“Oh that… it is hanging… on my wall,” she answered, trying hard to remember where she was supposed to have hung it.
In truth the framed side of A4 was under a pile of towels secreted beneath her bed. She had considered discreetly placing it next to her pin board where no one would give it a second glance, but the stark red ink announced its true nature from the other side of the room. The weekly cleaner would see it, if no one else, and it was hard to think that Imogen or Lucy wouldn’t slip into her room to ‘borrow’ perfume or some such.
“Which wall?” John pushed her.
“Eh… my bedroom of course, you don’t think I want that seen in the kitchen,” she laughed, now making light of it. “I put it behind the door if you must know. I doubt if anyone will come in and close the door.”
It sounded plausible, but Carolynn knew that the electric sockets were also behind the door where Mrs Janacek plugged in her vacuum.
“Hmmm,” John growled and muttered something.
Carolynn smiled innocently and moved to put her bag down.
“I have a new task for you this week,” John continued.
“Oh yes?” Carolynn looked up apprehensively.
“You have met Henry, but for next week I want you to identify five other implements of chastisement and write a paragraph about them and place them in order of severity, as you see it.” John watched his protégée for any reaction.
Carolynn worked her mouth and felt a pulse in her head. She had expected a hard time, and thinking in straight lines, she had assumed that she could call upon her resources to endure what was chosen for her. It had been ever thus for her entirely adult life. But this was evil. John wanted her to think about what he was doing with her and forcing her to engage with it.
“You mean like the cane, whip and stuff?” she threw at him with a casual shrug, but her face was glowing hot and she hated her weakness.
“The cane I will accept, but you will have to be a bit more specific about your choice of whip and I will only accept one type as an example,” Dacia said smoothly as he sat back on the edge of his desk.
“Whips come in types?” Carolynn blurted.
“Indeed they do,” he chuckled, “But not all are readily suitable for apply to a woman’s naked bottom.”
“I don’t suppose they are,” she muttered and looked at the floor.
John smiled indulgently. “You’ll never get used to it you know, but eventually you will get used to not getting used to it,” he said.
“Used to what?” Carolynn sucked in her cheeks and didn’t meet his eyes.
“I think you know,” he said sharply.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
Carolynn drew in a deep breath and then flicking a quick glance at him she mumbled. “All of this, you know, getting sp-spanked.”
“And what is ‘all of this’?” he insisted.
“You know,” she shrugged again.
“I do, but suppose you tell me,” he said sternly.
“Come on, you know what I mean,” she blushed horribly.
John Dacia heaved a very heavy sigh and then reached for something in the draw.
“I was going to use my hand again,” he said wearily.
“But I…” Carolynn gasped when she saw Henry.
She was upended easily and hauled across his lap as he sat down in the same armless chair he had spanked her in before. Having him strip her of her somewhat masculine pinstripe trousers and more feminine knickers was surreal. Not that there was anything masculine about her hind end, in trousers or not.
“I think you know you have this coming,” he barked.
“Ooh,” she squealed and looked in horror at the outer office, just one readily opened door from John’s secretary.
The brush landed with a firm thwack to her tail and she couldn’t help but yelp. It was a girlish squeak and she clapped a free hand to her mouth and blushed. What am I a movie damsel in distress?
The second solid smack made her eyes bulge and she gasped out another shrill note. I guess I am, she thought ruefully as the onslaught began.
In the minutes that followed she squirmed on his lap as she bucked her legs in his iron grasp. At points she growled and gurgled angrily as she tried not to shout, but it quickly became more bearable to vocalise the pain. Even that did not stop the onrush of water at her eyes.
I won’t cry, I won’t, she prayed fiercely as she crossed and re-crossed her ankles. But after another few minutes that proved to be a lie and she began to hiccough out sobs as a prelude to fully voiced bawling. Her bottom was stinging, aching and burning all at once as she was spanked.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wailed, not really knowing what she was sorry for.
“The whole thing, getting spanked, going to the corner, how you feel, what is it called?” John was almost yelling in her ear, but the volume was urgency not anger.
His pounding arm was poised mid spank as he waited.
“My submission,” she sobbed.
“Bingo,” John chuckled, “One thousand lines for next week, ‘I am a submissive who must learn to submit.’”
“But what about the other stupid thing,” she protested.
“Stupid thing?” he rasped as the spanking resumed, “You’ll do that too,” he told her.
Outside the door the secretary thought she heard… well it was a long drawn out waaa sound, that and as low steady clap of applause. Then she placed it and shot a glance at the door to Dacia’s office. The grin reached her eyes. So the rumours were true.
To be continued.
Filed under: DJB stories, spanking stories, workplace | Leave a Comment
Tags: spanking, submission
You may be looking for a piece by Indigo but she has been too busy to write one and I don’t have one in the library. Sorry about that, I’ll prompt her for something soon.
The next part of the Deal will be posted tomorrow.
Filed under: Indigo Sigh, real life | 3 Comments
I was in the dentist of all places when I picked up a magazine with an article entitled, Memoirs of a Porn Star. The title was obviously tongue-in-cheek as the photograph was of a woman who looked like she might be in a care home in the 1970s.
However, I was surprised to find out that article was about the columnist’s long dead grandmother who had posed for some saucy pictures in the dying days of the First World War and into the 1920s.
By today’s standards the pictures were fairly innocent, but grandmother had apparently kept her secret from her daughters and husband until he was in his grave.
Her career had begun after she had been approached on the way home from school by ‘a respectable photographer’ when she was barely 18. She was offered the princely sum of 10 shillings if she posed for him.
Her first pictures were coy shots of a bit of leg but, her granddaughter explained, she was soon offered an extra half a crown if she would go a little further.
Nude bathing shots, ‘voyeur’ keyhole scenes and school girl spanking tableaux’s soon followed.
“I would have been spanked in earnest if Dad had found out,” she later cheerfully told her granddaughter. A man it was explained who kept a respectable shop and was not averse to laying his belt across his adult daughters’ bare bottoms.
The only regret she expressed is that she was persuaded to invite some of her school friends to take part in school room scenes. These were largely innocent but included some posed for caning and the inevitable spanking. “It was all tremendous fun and we all felt dreadfully naughty,” she is reported as saying. However, one of her friends got more deeply into it and ended up as a sex worker and hard core porn actress; this being the source of her regret.
On a lighter note one of her other friends married the photographer and went into the “respectable side of things.”
It was not unusual, we were told, for ladies’ maids, shop girls, women clippies (bus conductresses) or even nurses to be approached on the street and offered an easy way to earn a little extra cash.
The spanking of school girls and maids was particular popular and it was a common practice to sell these images as being of real disciplined maids or students, although these ‘schoolgirls’ were frequently well into their 20s.
I have previously read elsewhere that it was not unusual for some women to get into darker more hard core BDSM. I have pictures of quite brutal thrashings and neo ‘torture’ scenes where marking and bruising can clearly been seen. A lighter example is used above Still tame by some modern standards, but these are not merely posed for shots and some of them go well beyond that even.
Usually these women were paid double the ‘nudie rate,’ and one can only speculate on the level of exploitation. But maybe they were early scene players and this was their only outlet.
A popular theme for these harder scenes was white slavery and some later well-known stars cut their teeth in such films. Boris Karlov and Joan Crawford are rumoured to have made serval ‘whipping movies.’
Again audiences liked authenticity and a big star if this underground scene was a woman reputedly once held captive in a harem.
Another story, which may be apocryphal, is that a maid well known for her spanking portfolio was discovered by her real life mistress. Rather than sack the girl the hitherto respectable woman offered her own services and are said to have shot several series of erotic scenes over some years.
The mistress would sometimes be nude and attended to by her maid and in other scenes she would spank the maid for some domestic crime or other. Apparently this ‘authenticity’ was a hot seller. However, it could just have easily been made up, but it is not entirely unbelievable when one thinks of how bored a cash-starved stay-at-home 1920s housewife might be.
The aforesaid memoirs of a lady who ended her days in a care home opened my eyes to might and might not take part in such adventures.
In Germany between the wars things were even more interesting. Karl Heinz was a well-known cabaret photographer who used to specialise in spanking and BDSM. He paid night club dances to take a punishment and then photographer their markings in stark black and white photography.
He is also said to have approached matrons with grown-up daughters in the guise of social research to find out how they punished their daughters. He is said to have offered a small fee to document ‘certain corrections.’ Whether this is true or not it did enable him to sell his work as being authentic, which seems to be a common theme for the ages.
In the 1940s and 1950s, photography clubs bloomed both sides of the Atlantic, with models freely posing for private photographers. Bettie Page made her start here and some of the output were little more than documented orgies in private houses.
This kind of professional ‘amateurism’ seems to have lasted in one form or another up until the permissive 1960s when home movies and mainstream producers overtook them.
Filed under: movies, real life, retro, vintage | 6 Comments
My PC is still out for the count, so I am still running the empire and my workflow on mobile devices. At some point I am going to have to stomp up for a new PC, but it is a bad time of year for cash flow (the tax man cometh) and I don’t want to rush a new set-up.
That said, I have had a little more time to peruse Spankville this week and the world is warming up.
Stan of Aus Fils Des Jours is celebrating 10 years of blogging. he is probably France’s biggest spanking blogger and easily a top 10 player in the world. Go Stan.
Hot on the heels of the last spanking blog awards (for which someone was not mentioned) comes another chance to snub old DJ. But seriously the Romantic Spanking Fiction Awards gives (almost) everyone a go. So if you have been buying spanking romances go and vote. There are some excellent writers there, by authors like Devlin O’Neil, Natasha Knight and Carolyn Faulkner whom I have actually read, so you may have.
This got me thinking. I have always struggled with the romantic spanking side of things, Tamed by the Cossack and the Discipline of Desert being exceptions for me rather than the rule. There was of course Magic, but that is so much more than just a romance (IMHO) not that I am knocking the romance stuff. The publisher tells me that my mixing of F/F with M/F and my generalist approach is not what middle American ladies (the biggest buyers of this stuff apparently) are looking for.
Whilst I am on the subject of LSF (my publisher), I think it strange that they can only use vanilla pictures on the cover of their books as Amazon doesn’t like any nudity or anything too suggestive. Is this because those aforementioned ladies want to read on the train without giving the game away? Anyway, since I have been asked, that is why I usually shove up an unrelated picture with my blog posts on new books.
A final note about me, I am still a bit behind in my correspondence so if you have emailed me I will get back to you. You might have noticed the same problem in replying to comments. Sorry about that.
Indigo has been getting creative, but as yet I don’t have anything of hers to publish on Wednesday. Work is getting a bit hectic for her so we may have a short hiatus there. I am still hoping not.
Filed under: web round-up, Weekly Round-up | 12 Comments
Tags: spanking, spanking blogs