Archive for the ‘books’ Category
(The results of Friday night at Shadowlane. See below for how those marks got there!)
For me, Shadowlane is about friends. It is also about spanking, but I’m afraid my account of the best spanking party in the U.S. is simply not going to be as exciting as some of the bottoms who spend the party going from lap to lap.
Not that there is anything wrong with that, of course – they are just in a different place from me. Some of them may not have spanking in their lives all the rest of the time, and this is their big weekend to play and get in experiences to keep them going for another dreary year. Or some are eager newbies, wanting to taste every experience, and taste it now. Or some other equally valid explanation. Whatever, if you want a scene report that is just the non-stop spankathon that can be one’s Shadowlane experience, go sort through other blog posts here.
A friend asked me what I was into (I was burbling excitedly to him about rope bondage at the time) and I think it bears a little explanation, since I’m always considering it and having new realisations, myself.
As many of you know, I started in the dungeon. I got into BDSM in college, having been handed Pat Califia’s Macho Sluts by a girl I really wanted to sleep with. (I did eventually sleep with her. And do kinky things with her. And make porn with her. We had a very useful friendship!) I joined the “Younger Generation” BDSM group, and spent my time learning the best sort of candles to use for wax play, how to properly coil rope for rope bondage, how to season a single-tail so it cracks best, and how to wrap someone in saran wrap and then make convenient slits and slide ice cubes in and make them scream and squirm. (Okay, that last bit came naturally!)
The dungeon is really a useful place. To this day, I can show you how best to set me on fire (very temporarily!) for the prettiness and adrenalin rush of it. But what it did not do was help me find my way to my “core kink”, as it were. I took classes on everything – it was sort of assumed you wanted to learn everything, from where to hit on someone’s bum, to how to get a fist up there as well! And I, caught up in the thrill of kinky excitement, just went along for the marvellous ride.
I think people were supposed to find their “thing” along the way. But, for many years, I just bounced around, trying everything at least once, “Jacqueline of all trades, mistress of none.”
A funny thing that came out of that is that, for the longest time, I just decided I was “not a masochist“. Pain turned out to hurt, you see, and without the drive of a core kink, it just really didn’t seem worth it. I had nothing to help me through the pain of a beating, so I just avoided them. The pains of rope bondage had a reward (the attention you get as you are tied and untied, the admiration you get for holding a hard bondage position, and usually pictures of yourself looking hot and sexy in the ropes.
I had decided that I only liked “thuddy” pain. (I think this was a way to get only nice safe floggers used on me, or some such.) Amusingly, a professional dominatrix friend then told me that if I didn’t like stingy pain, I wouldn’t ever enjoy a caning. And I have to seriously thank her for that! Because it meant that Mr Defeu was the first person to cane me. And being able to have that “cherry” for him to pop meant so terribly much to both of us!
Now that Mr Defeu has come up, it’s really time to leave the dungeon for the headmaster’s office. Because when he handed me a stack of Januses (Janii?) – in between the first time he spanked me and our first date! – that’s when my core kink came suddenly, completely into focus.
Read the rest of this entry »
I just this moment ran across a surprise caning scene in a novel — and it’s a nun getting caned, to boot! So I grabbed the book, King of the Wood, and hustled over to the computer, to share it all with you!
In the story so far, a young lady named Edith is in an abbey for education and preparation for her marriage. The Abbess, her aunt and the Mother Abbess Christina. Christina wants Edith to make the choice to stay and become a nun, despite her father’s orders that Edith is to be married and is not there to take orders. Edith, for her part, is very much on her father’s side….
“Did I or did I not, yesterday, order you to put on the veil?”
“Did I?” said Christina dangerously.
“Yes. Mother Abbess.” Edith muttered.
“And what did I say would happen to you if you persisted in arguing with me?”
Edith made herself look up again. “It will make no difference. I cannot wear the veil. Because of what my father said.”
“Because you are hard of heart, impious, unable to recognize a magnificent opportunity when it is put before you. I will give you one more chance, Edith. Go to your dorter and fetch the veil I gave you. Put it on. Then we will say no more about this foolish fit of defiance.”
Edith stared at her feet again and neither moved or answered.
“Very well, said Christina, and shot out a hand to grasp Edith’s arm. She was only in her forties, but her fingers looked as if they belonged to a woman much older. They were, however, extremely strong. “Come with me,” said Christina.
The other girls, who had drawn back, sorry for Edith but too frightened to speak in her defence, followed slowly, in an awed cluster, exchanging a few whispers. In the abbey building, they gathered at the foot of the dorter, up which Christina had dragged her victim.
They could hear it all. The most heart-rending part was they they heard the whistle of Christina’s cane for so long before Edith shrieked. They turned to scatter as their abbess stormed down again, but she saw them and and spoke sharply, calling them back. “None of you are to go to the dorter, or speak to her. She will come to the refectory, I hope, in a chastened state of mind and wearing her veil. You may speak to her then, but not to express sympathy. And those of you who are crying had better dry your tears. They’re wasted. She brought her troubles on herself.”
I am sorry to have been so long absent from this blog! I’m hoping to sneak in a few days of posting before work picks up again….
I’ve been enjoying it for it’s own merits, but was doubly excited when mention of CP suddenly showed up!
The three great subjects of Beating, Bullying, and Buggery (the junior or cadet equivalent of Winston Churchill’s naval tryptych of Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash”) are familiar enough to me in their way, and I have often been closely questioned – usually by girls – about their influence on my formation. I was subjhected to a certain amount and to a certain extent to the first two of the Big Bs but not (my italics) to the third….
Indeed, I often have difficulty convincing my graduate students that I really did go off to prep school at the age of eight, from station platforms begrimed with coal dust and echoing to the mounting “whomp, whomp, woof, woof” of the pistons beginning to turn, as my own “trunk” and “trunk box” were loaded into a “luggage car.” Not only that, but that I wore corduroy shorts in all weathers, blazers with a school crest on Sundays, slept in a dormitory with open windows, began every day with a cold bath (followed by the declension of Latin irregular verbs), wolfed lumpy porridge for breakfast, attended compulsory divine service every morning and evening, and kept a diary in which – in a special code – I recorded the number of times when I was left alone with a grown-up man, who was perhaps four times my weight and five times my age, and bent over to be thrashed with a cane.
Here we have some excellent points for those who want to play, “Schoolboy at English public school” games. I know quite a few of you who will perk up at reading this!
The true essence of a dictatorship is in the fact that those who live under it must never be able to relax, must never be quite sure if they have followed the rules correctly or not. (The only rule of thumb was: whatever is not compulsory is forbidden) Thus, the ruled can always be found to be in the wrong. […] “Hitchens, take that look off your face!” Near-instant panic. I hadn’t realized I was wearing a “look.” (Face-crime!) “Hitchens, report yourself at once to the study!” “Report myself for what, sir?” “Don’t make it worse for yourself, Hitchens, you know perfectly well.” But I didn’t. And then, “Hitchens, it’s not just that you have let the whole school down. You have let yourself down.” To myself I was frantically muttering: Now what? It turned out to be some dormitory sex-game from which – though the fools in charge didn’t know it – I had in fact been excluded. But a protestation of my innocence would have been, as in any inquisition, and additional proof of guilt.
One of the joys of reading this and feeling stirred by erotic tinglings is that this is utterly guilt-free, which can’t be said for all the “real life” CP we all read about and eroticize. But Christopher Hitchens was not horribly traumatized by this, and ended up not having entirely negative feelings on the matter –
And yet it still wasn’t facism, and the men and women who ran this bizarre microcosm were dedicated in their own weird way.
I think I wish I had not been introduced so early to the connection between obscure sexual excitement and the infliction – or the reception – of pain.
So I think we can all safely build some fantasies on this one! And, from what I have gotten to know about him from reading his works, I have to say I think ol’ Hitch would actually be amused, if not grinningly pleased, that people were basing fantasies on his school years! Indeed, that last sentence makes me wonder if perhaps he was not, to some extent, one of us…!
I got the idea for this from the wonderful Mija.
It occurs to me that I’ve never written about my first spanking on my blog! This is probably because, like the first time I had sex, it really wasn’t the best example of the experience. But still, it’s worth remembering!
When I was 17 I was busy discovering the stories of Robert A. Heinlein (a topic I’ve written about before). And one of the things that was really exciting me about them (besides the excellent writing, fascinating plots, strong characters, and first view of positive polyamorous relationships) was all the spanking RAH manages to work into his tales. (There’s a pun there involving “tails” which I will ignore. You can thank me in the comments.) One spanking I remember well from first reading when I was 17 was from I Will Fear No Evil:
He stepped to the wall and squeezed down the intercom to zero, then said gently, ‘Get dressed, dear.’
‘I won’t! If we leave now, you’ll have to stuff me into the car bare naked.’
He sighed and picked her up; she stopped crying and looked suddenly happy.
The expression did not last. He turned her in his arms as he sat down on a straight chair, got a firm grip on her, and walloped her right buttock. She yelped. And struggled.
He got her more firmly, placing his right leg over both of hers, and applied his hand smartly to her left cheek. Then he alternated sides, stopping with ten. He set her on her feet and said, ‘Get dressed, dear. Quickly.’
She stopped and rubbed the punished area. ‘Yes, Jake.’
Neither said another word until he had handed her into the car, climbed in after her, and they had been locked in. Then she said timidly, ‘Jake? Will you hold me?’
‘May I take my robe off, please? Will you take it off me?’
With the robe out of the way she sighed and snuggled in. After a bit she whispered, ‘Jake darling? Why did you spank me?’
It was his turn to sigh. ‘You were being difficult … and it is the only thing I know of which will do a woman any good when a man can’t do for her what she needs. And right then – I couldn’t.’
(Copied from SpankingBlog — thank you Spank Boss for typing that one out! Head over there for more from that scene, and another spanking scene in the book!)
At that point in time, I had a boyfriend who was my first properly kinky boyfriend. Since I don’t think he’d mind in the slightest being mentioned in a porn blog, I’ll call him by his real name, Ira (which happens to be a common name in Heinlein novels, amusingly). He wanted to experiment with bondage and roleplay (Uncle Ira coming over to “take care of” little Zille in her nightie). He also was the person responsible for getting me to start shaving my nether bits (you can thank him in the comments, too, although I rather think I get more credit by this point in time for keeping it up all these years!)
He must have given me my first spanking. But, to be honest, if he did, I don’t remember it at all. (I do however remember the scene where he was “breaking into” my room, and was hog-tying me — presumably to be followed by discovering that sex is not particularly easy in that position. We were at my parent’s house, and not expecting anyone home for hours. Suddenly, we heard the door open and close downstairs. This was followed by a rather frantic out-of-character discussion: if it was my grandfather we were fine — he was mostly deaf and wouldn’t come up to my room, anyway. But if it was my mom…. We rushed me out of bondage — neither of us had the notion of Safety Shears at that time! — and got clothing back into order … and then discovered with relief that it was indeed my grandfather, but didn’t have the courage or energy to start the scene up again!)
So possibly, my first spanking came from an ex whom I have previously called The Lost Prince on this blog. He wasn’t big into the idea of spanking, but he was willing to give it a fair go.
He got me over his lap, bottom bared, and give a light smack. “Harder!” I complained. And so he raised his hand up, and came down with a proper smack. “Ohhh…!” He sighed happily, “It leaves a hand-print!” And then he took off, leaving as many hand-prints as he could, while I gasped and bounced and started to regret inspiring that enthusiasm! (No, he didn’t become a real spanko, in the end. But I bet he has happily left hand-prints on other girl’s bottoms over the intervening years!)
So there, anyway, is either my first or second spanking. Not the most thrilling start to life as a spanko, but not a bad one, either!
All the recent not-playing has left me with lots of time to read (oh, what a wild life I lead!) and I’ve continued on with my “Heinleins That Don’t Get Enough Attention” list. It seems I’m not the only one to realize what a great book Double Star is:
Whatever your viewpoint on SF, the fact that an award-winning book from a man generally named as one of the genre’s founding fathers (alongside Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke) is so little known amongst otherwise knowledgeable cultural journalists says something about the way the genre has been marginalised by the UK press. Now that I’ve read the book, such ignorance also seems a shame.
The replication in question concerns an egotistical actor who is called in to act as a double for a political leader after the man himself is kidnapped. The actor (The Great Lorenzo) successfully performs a tricky diplomatic mission on Mars and is then called on to encore after encore after it becomes clear that Joe Bonforte – the man he is pretending to be – is unlikely to be able to appear in public again.
So far so simple. The story moves at a sharp pace, helped along by Heinlein’s slick prose and the kind of wry good humour demonstrated when he describes the multi-consonant names (Rrringrill) he has ascribed to his Martians as sounding like “a leaking faucet”.
In common with much of the best SF, it’s not just the scientific ideas that make this book worthy of investigation. History does too. The political concerns and philosophy that Heinlein chooses to project onto his imagined future also provide an intriguing barometer of his times.
The book’s impassioned pleas for understanding and tolerance with regard to Martian culture, for instance, might not make for a subtle allegory, but it is moving given the book’s context in 1950s America. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that a few of those impressionable teenage white males who comprised the books original target audience went on to stand with Martin Luther King on the Washington Mall a few years later.
And, here, finally, is the quote that this whole post is about!
As my father used to say, ‘Larry, you are too durned pretty! If you don’t get off your lazy duff and learn the business, you are going to spend fifteen years as a juvenile, under the mistaken impression that you are an actor – then wind up selling candy in the lobby. “Stupid” and “pretty” are the two worst vices in show business – and you’re both.’
Then he would take off his belt and stimulate my brain. Father was a practical psychologist and believed that warming the glutei maximi with a strap drew excess blood away from a boy’s brain. While the theory may have been shaky, the results justified the method…
The images in this post are from Northern Spanking Institute’s epic space opera “Schoolgirls In Space”, which you should go watch immediately! Heinlein would have entirely approved of it!