Kicking as the cane strikes…
August 26th, 2008 | Author: Zille
Sorry I missed posting yesturday, but now I’m finally starting to feel better! To make up for it, I’ll post two things today!
First, Abel and Haron, The Spanking Writers, did a great post today: Roald Dahl’s Spanking Poetry. In it, they name-check Roald Dahl, and his wonderful story “Galloping Foxley” which is in Tales of the Unexpected
” ‘If you’re too obstinate to answer,’ the voice was saying, ‘then I’ll have to decide for you.’ I wanted desperately to answer because I knew which one I had to choose. It’s the first thing you learn when you arrive. Always keep the dressing-gown on and take the extra strokes, Otherwise you’re almost certain to get cut. Even three with it on is better than one with it off. ‘Take it off then and get into the far corner and touch your toes. I’m going to give you four.’ Slowly I would take it off and lay it on the ledge above the boot-lockers. And slowly I would walk over to the far corner, cold and naked now in my cotton pyjamas, treading softly and seeing everything around me suddenly very bright and flat and far away, like a magic lantern picture, and very big, and very unreal, and sort of swimming through the water in my eyes.
‘Go on and touch your toes. Tighter – much tighter than that.’ Then he would walk down to the far end of the changing room and I would be watching him upside down between my legs, and he would disappear through a doorway that led down two steps into what we called ‘the basin-passage’. This was a stone-floored corridor with wash basins along one wan, and beyond it was the bathroom. When Foxley disappeared I knew he was walking down to the far end of the basin-passage.
Foxley always did that. Then, in the distance, but echoing loud among the basins and the tiles, I would hear the noise of his shoes on the stone floor as he started galloping forward, and through my legs I would see him leaping up the two steps into the changing-room and come bounding towards me with his face thrust forward and the cane held high in the air.
This was the moment when I shut my eyes and waited for the crack and told myself that whatever happened I must not straighten up.
Anyone who has been properly beaten will tell you that the real pain does not come until about eight or ten seconds after the stroke. The stroke itself is merely a loud crack and a sort of blunt thud against your backside, numbing you completely (I’m told a bullet wound does the same). But later on, oh my heavens, it feels as if someone is laying a red hot poker right across your naked buttocks and it is absolutely impossible to prevent yourself from reaching back and clutching it with your fingers.
Foxley knew all about this time lag, and the slow walk back over a distance that must altogether have been fifteen yards gave each stroke plenty of time to reach the peak of its pain before the next one was delivered.
On the fourth stroke I would invariably straighten up. I couldn’t help it. It was an automatic defence reaction from a body that had had as much as it could stand.
‘You flinched,’ Foxley would say. ‘That one doesn’t count, Go on – down you get.’ The next time I would remember to grip my ankles.”
I think the people who do Lupus Spanking should remake this (with a girl in drag, a la Over the Knee
Okay, now for the second part of the post! This week I’ll be madly working to process images I’ve taken so I can launch my Master’s and my fetish photography website. (Beyond a front page, that is!) So, this week, every day, I’ll post a sample of what I’ve been working on! Today’s shot is I think quite thematically appropriate for the text above!
Kicking from the pain of the cane
The model getting the cane is Ntali. N.B.: I don’t have a good title for this image. I would love suggestions!
UPDATE: Karl has come up with a winning name: “Recoil” — isn’t it perfect?! I’m so pleased that I will be asking for names for all the images I post this week!
Shadow Lane Video Clips
Northern Spanking
I Feel Myself.com
Zat you, Zille, in those tough-girl boots?
As for a title, how about “Recoil”, as in the “kick” you get from a shotgun or centerfire rifle.
Zille, hopefully you are much better now, I agree with KFG nice pair of boots, is the ensemble you!
Roald Dahl was rather late for me, I came across him through a couple of films, the Chocolate factory was one, I think the other one has some awful evil woman, he isn’t a favourite of mine.
Love and warm hugs,
Paul.
Hey Karl and Paul!
Ummm … the girl getting caned in the photo is not me, and you can tell by two ways:
1.) I’m the photographer. While I have done self-portrait work before, it would be very hard to take pictures while getting a caning!
2.) As you may have noticed from previous images, I am not black (skin-wise, I’m about as white as it gets!) This model, named Ntali, is, as you can observe, black.
Anyway, I apologise for not making it clear in the post that I’m working on images that *I* took, this week. I’ll go correct it!
Karl — I love “Recoil” — that’s perfect! I’m really bad at naming the pictures I take, so maybe I should just my blog readers to name them for me!
Paul — Mr. Dahl has some very hate-able bad guys! The only evil awful woman I can think of off the top of my head is in “The Witches.” His work for adults is quite different from his children’s stuff. I recommend: Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life (Penguin Fiction).
Zille, I bet one could approximate that skin tone just by manipulating the tone curves or in the olden days by using paper contrasts and exposures to get a “low-key” effect, even if the girl was “white”. That’s why I asked. I did have a feeling she was black though and therefore “not you”. Hate to be a wet blanket but I get a funny feeling about black models getting spanked. It’s like I feel black people have suffered too much real-life oppression for me to be able to enjoy fantasizing about them getting spanked for play. Maybe it’s just me. Plus, the other downside is that the marks don’t show up much. Red-haired girls with fair skin are maybe the best from that angle. I’d be interested in hearing other people’s perspectives on this.
Karl,
If I wanted to change skin tone I could — but why would I? This is erotic potraiture, so I want to give my models pictures of themselves they recognize!
I don’t know how I would have done it in “the old days,” however, unless I wanted to spend hours in the darkroom when instead I could be shooting someone with the desired skintone!
As for your reaction to the image … well, this lovely lady contacted me and said she wanted to shoot. This is what she does with her lover (who is weilding the cane) for fun and pleasure, just as I do. Ntali was totally in control of this shoot, not being subjugated or oppressed in any way.
After the terrible history of ill treatment of black people, who, as you point out, have suffered plenty, would you deny them the pleasures that you and I enjoy with consensual BDSM play and spanking? I should think that’s horribly unfair! If they want to play that way, it’s their right just as much as it is yours or mine.
One of my ancestors was raped. (At least one I know about — knowing the statistics for how often women are raped, I rather imagine it was more than one!) Would you deny me the pleasures of the “consentual nonconsent” and “rough sex” that I enjoy so much? It’s the same thing.
I would also point out that Ntali’s lover, the person doing the caning, is black, too. So this can’t even be construed as an example of white-on-black violence! Unless, as the white photographer, I am the perpetrator of the violence!
I am very proud of this shoot. Ntali and her attractive and talented partner were relative newcomers to modeling, and they did a better-than-professional job. They shared, as you will see in more pictures that I’ll be posting, their intimacy and trust and love for the camera in a really vital and intense way, and I was honoured to share that with them on the day of the shoot, and by having images I will cherish in my portfolio for the rest of my life.
my Domina loves that, when struck, i tend to stomp my feet like a horse. i haven’t really kicked, but i do relish the mental release of stomping. Somehow it makes me feel like the pain goes away faster, although i’m sure it’s just a mind trick.
Hello Sybil!
I imagine that’s really cute — no wonder your Domina loves it!
I can see why it would help, or at least seem to help. I often experience a cane stroke or tawse or whatever as not just the pain radiating from the strike area, but also in the energy of the blow. Stomping your foot releases that energy out of your body.
I personally hold my breath and clench my hands. It really helps me to have something to hold on to — even more, something like a ball gag in my mouth! With something in my mouth, I can keep from crying out a lot better.
Good reply, Zille to my reaction. You’re right of course. But it’s not an intellectual thing. Good to talk about it though.
Talking about this kind of stuff is vital!
Zille, very unobservant of me, I had assumed some manipulation of the image.
I understand KFG’s reaction, but after some discussion with Mel, we agreed that everyone has the right to consensual pleasures.
The discussion arose because in certain Victorian erotica only the wealthy could enjoy certain pleasures, the discussion was theoretical because we were both aware that the poor had neither the means nor the time or indeed the imagination to want these things.
Just a thought or two.
Love and warm hugs,
Paul.
I had a science teacher who must have been Foxleys twin brother. Bloody hell it hurt. He also applied his best work in front of an audience. New Zealand High Schoos in the 80s
Thank you for sharing that, Mogy! I’m always fascinated by real life CP stories!
Hi Zille.
I would love to share my real life experiences. Certainly witnessed many more than I personally received though. Yes, they were interesting times and certainly fueled my interest in CP for sure. If you forward me an email address I’ll set to work.
Hi Paul and Zille. I just posted this storey on a chat site I visit and thought you might like to read it also. I found it in a news letter in amy dentists surgery recently. The article was about smoking and how people got started and ans subsequently gave up the habbit. There were a few of the expected type storeys then this one unexpectantly jumped out. The auther stated she was 50 years old and living in Christchurch, New Zealand.
She states:- During the 1970′s, High schools generally took a dim view students smoking. I was in my senior year at High School and rather fancied a class mate of mine. He played in the first 15 rugby team, was quitet the charmer and caught the eye most girls. Knowing that he enjoyed to smoke with his mates, I decided to invest my lunch money on a packet of 10 on my way to school. During a morning free preiod, I invided the subject of my admiration to join me for a smoke behind the sportsfield hedgerow. We were quietly puffing away, and with him being an established smoker, was attempting to teach me the finer points of draw back. I understandedly coughing and spluttering and we both laughed at my efforts. My ruse to get him alone was going along nicely when a junior teacher happened to pop her head around the corner and catch us both red handed. My nearly full pack of cigerettes were duely conficated and I hoped my loss and pathetic looks would serve as punishment enough. After a couple of days of hearing no more of the matter, I actually suspected we had got off lightly. During Friday assembly however, our names were read out to attend the senior school dean’s office. This was my first time ever and I knew it wasn’t a good omen.
The dean made us stand in his office while he quietly and calmly lectured us on our actions and behaviour. I was then issued with a full weeks detention. This came as somewhat of a shock to me, but I was soon to discover I realy had no cause for complaint. The Dean then walked the cupboard and removed a long length of cane, which he proceed to flex between his hands. I had heard of boys being caned and heard the process once or twice before in the corrodores, but this was the first time I had laid eyes on it. It appeared a truely fearsome impliment. My steady was then instructed to bend over and grab his angles. I stepped back involunterilly as the Dean took up position to his side and measured the distance of his reach and tapping the tip of the cane against the seat of my heros tightly streatched shorts. The Dean then drew back to full stretch and brought the cane slicing in with all his considerable strength. The strokes connected with a whip like cracksw and I watched on in silent shock and augh as this process was repeated a further five times. I couldn’t believe it was possible for a person to endure such treatment and only quiver and moan in responce.
After the last stroke was delivered he rose stifly to a stand and I had to divert my eyes from his gaze. Thankfully, I was then excused from the room as our respective punishment details were entered into the register. I spent considerable time trying to imagine the pain and discomfort that my friend must have been suffering following his traumatic ordeal, and it would have been considerable.
I never had a desire to pick up a cigerette since that day though, so it did serve it’s intended purpose.
I honestly can’t remember the name of the magazine, but suspect it has some publication put out by the anti smokinhg loby. The storey had a profound effect on me also as I went to the dentist chair with a ragging chubbie. I bet that doesn’t happen very often.mogy
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