The Library of Spanking Fiction: Wellred Weekly


Wellred Weekly
Volume 2, Number 1 : March 21, 2013
 
Articles
Items of interest regarding all things spanking

Corporal Punishment: Archetype, Myth & Reality - Part 1 (cont.)
by Dominic Black

Spanking the errant girl-child is a mythology deeply embedded in our global consciousness. It is a humanised dilution of that theme whereby we fear and repress feelings, intuition and creative imagination, as represented by the 'irrational' girl, who must be subdued and punished. We all have a feeling, feminine nature, which threatens order, structure and rational thought, and so we all have an inner girl who needs spanking sometimes, according to our more conservative conscience.

I find, personally, that my thoughts and instinctive impulses can turn to spanking when I am stressed, apprehensive or creative, or all three. It is as if then is the time that my inner feminine threatens to become unmanageable, and needs taking in hand. I also paint pictures, and I find that, sometimes, the finer the painting, the more the inner girl needs spanking! My conservative, fearful, interior voices fear the freedom, liberation, loving feeling and open-hearted anarchy that a beautiful painting might bring... so the artist is 'spanked', to try to get it back into line; dutiful and obedient, controlled and reserved, not independent.

There is a personal correspondence I have here, with this particular notion, from my early teenage years, and my experiences with a formidable, spinsterish piano teacher who was engaged to try to teach me how to learn to read and write music, and to pass piano grade exams. I have been blessed with the gift of art, and also of being able to play the piano by ear, intuitively, but it's possible that I am also slightly dyslexic or even autistic, too. It is a bit of a 'savant' issue... my inability to conceptualise properly in the ordinary way, is compensated for by an intuitive gift.

At school, this slight handicap of mine, if that is what it is, was deemed lazy or even dreamy by judgemental and punitive authority figures, and I was frequently slippered or caned for what must have seemed like inattentiveness, and a poor attitude, to them.

With my piano teacher, try as I might, I simply could not learn to read or write music. The best I could muster, as with my history or geography exams at school, was to learn the facts parrot-fashion. When I played from the heart, my teacher cooed and fussed over me, grasping and kissing my hands rapturously, and saying that they were a gift from God, and that I played like an angel. But when I consistently failed at theory, or stumbled as I tried to read the notes, she would become enraged and frustrated, and would tug my hair or rap my knuckles with her pointer, cursing my apparent laziness and unwillingness to learn.

I remember well one particular day; a watershed day in my anthology of spanking experiences. Stout, middle-aged, no-nonsense Patricia, my piano teacher from the age of 12-15, and friend of my auntie Pam, quoted St. Paul to me:

"Children learn either through kindness, through being beaten or they don't learn at all," she stated, pointedly, as I failed for the hundredth time to master a piece of theory.

"The latter is not an option," she continued, "and I will always endeavour to teach through kindness, but if you don't start pulling your weight and improving your attitude, my boy, I will not hesitate to employ the middle option. Is that understood?"

I nodded meekly.

And with that, she went to the dresser and pulled out a school cane. Returning with it, she began to prod me with it, probing me menacingly.

"Have you ever had the cane at school, young man?"

I mumbled that I had.

"How many strokes?"

"Three on each hand," I responded meekly. I had also been caned across my bottom, but I was too shy to tell her that.

Grasping my hands she then narrowed her eyes and almost spat these words at me:

"God gave you beautiful hands to play the piano with, and he gave you the face of an angel, you little ungrate. But he also gave you another part of your anatomy specifically designed for punishment. What part is that?"

Colouring and looking away, sheepishly, I did not answer.

"What part is that?" she yelled.

"I don't know," I murmured, hoping the interrogation would go away.

"You don't know," she retorted sarcastically, at great volume. "Well, I'll just have to show you then, won't I?"

And with that she grabbed my hair and stood up smartly, pulling me up alongside her.

"Put your hands on your head," she barked.

I complied, slightly traumatised.

Immediately, Patricia began undoing my trousers. My hands reached down instinctively to stop her, but she just slapped them, hard and stingingly. Before I knew it, she had pulled my trousers down. Then, she yanked me across her lap and plumped her hand down firmly upon my bottom.

"THIS is the part of the anatomy I'm referring to, you foolish child. Your BOTTOM."

And with that she delivered a volley of hard spanks to the seat of my pants.

"From now on, it's the middle option for you. You'll dream your life away you will, if you're not careful. DREAM - YOUR - LIFE - A-WAY," she carefully enunciated, spanking me hard as she uttered each syllable."

This was the first time I had ever been spanked by a female. I found it shocking, shaming and somehow even vaguely sordid... but I also found it exciting and thrilling in a way that I hardly knew how to articulate, back then.

The threat or promise of a spanking, across her knee with my trousers down, caused a fluttering of excitement in the pit of my stomach each subsequent time I went to a music lesson at her house... and I received many more spankings over the next three years. There was something about her liking me, (and I was a cute kid... quite tomboyish, actually, if that's not a contradiction... a slightly girlish boy, with longish hair, slender hips and a somewhat androgynous energy) seeing my intuitive higher gifts and yet being exasperated enough to pull my trousers down and spank my teenage bottom, that I found deliciously compelling. I wanted her to see my highest self, but I also wanted her to see my lowest self... my bottom! I secretly wished that she would pull my pants down as well, so that she could see my anus (but she never did), and I fervently hoped that she actually liked the feel of my young buttocks, despite her anger and exasperation. She did once say, admiringly, something like:

"What a bottom! You boys are so lucky to have such nice, neat little bottoms... not like us girls spreading out all over the place... such a spankable bottom... my favourite bottom to spank!"

Secretly and shyly, I was greatly flattered. I almost felt that I was flirting. If I could coquettishly tease her by failing to learn... despite her best efforts... she would bring the whole thing to a climax by pulling my trousers down, and spanking me until she felt relieved of her burden of anger, and I felt cleansed and atoned by the punishment. All was restored and normalised in the aftermath of the spanking. My only residual, unresolved humiliation came when I arose, and clambered off her knee... I was desperate for her not to see my penis in my pants, especially if I had become aroused. After the first time, I had no great issue with her seeing my bottom, but my 'front bottom' was quite another matter!

My first caning from Patricia, with that formidable and swishy old cane of hers, came when I only got a pass and not a distinction in my Grade 1 exam. I failed by fourteen marks. Patricia opened the envelope in front of me, and my stomach lurched when I saw her face tighten. I knew I had failed to gain the necessary distinction, and had been warned that I would face the cane if I did not.

She silently went to her cupboard and fetched out her cane, grim and hatchet-faced. Then, she placed a chair in the middle of the room.

"Take your trousers down," she commanded, swishing her cane cruelly.

"Bend over the back of the chair."

I took my trousers down, with my heart pounding furiously, and my tummy in my mouth, bent over and placed my hands on the chair seat, but she ordered me to bend right down and grasp the chair legs in front. This was acutely uncomfortable and difficult to achieve. The top of the chair dug into my abdomen, and I felt terribly exposed. Patricia fussily pushed my shirt further up my back and straightened my pants out over my bottom, smoothing them down over both cheeks, before taking up position behind me and to one side, steadying herself and then resting the cane on my buttocks.

I got fourteen strokes, laid on hard and slowly, and she did not utter a single word throughout. But I could feel the air heavy with punitive rage as she swished the cane down each time, exhaling as she did so. I didn't even know how many strokes I was going to get, but it turned out to be one stroke for each mark failed.

When it was over, she turned my pants back from each cheek in turn, to inspect her cane-craft, and felt my bottom where the cane marks were. Her hands were cool, and my bottom was hot, stinging, ridged and stripy. Though I didn't know it at that age (fourteen, I think) the peculiar feeling I felt in the pit of my tummy, my loins and my punished buttocks, was sexual arousal.

This experience initiated me into another complex theme around the symbolism of corporal punishment... the theme of inflation and deflation of the ego. I am something of a dreamer; I am a mystic and a spiritual seeker. I notice that my spanking ideation often occurs if I 'fly too high', spiritually, with high ideals or creative energy. It's like a built-in safety valve. The more I seek sublime, altered states, or believe in my own spiritual mythology, the more my animal instinct craves the 'fundament' in life. The more I wish to reveal my inner light, the more my instinct wishes to display the polar opposite... my anus!

To illustrate this, I once had a dream where I gave a concert to enthralled and enraptured women (as I actually do now, in my adult life). I was singing and playing the piano beautifully and sensitively. Then, Patricia, my old piano teacher came on stage with a lesbian lynch-mob, and manhandled me into a bent over position, before pulling my trousers down, and then my pants, and caning me. The audience, which had seen my shining light only moments before, now saw my anus and genitals, rudely displayed!

This dream deflated a certain self-aggrandisement in me, and brought me down to earth. My spiritual feeling is sometimes like a seductress... a tantrica dancing before me... and, in a way, it is this temptress inside me who needs the spanking, hence the theme for me of alternating between being excited by the thought of a young girl being spanked, and of myself being punished as a naughty boy. Either way, it is the immature, uncontained part of my feeling nature which ends up being spanked. This thought process helps me to differentiate in life between true spiritual experience, and seductive illusion, because it's the illusion that ends up getting spanked. I feel like I want to be spanked if I am lost in illusion, but never when I am having authentic spiritual feelings.

Part 2 (of 4) will be featured in the next issue

 
11 comments:
canadianspankee said...
Interesting article, how spanking can relate back to a very early age and continue on through childhood to grow into something much larger then one can imagine. Not that all spanko's started the same way for sure, but in this instance a very definite connection. The feelings of shame and humiliation all mixed in I am sure are common to many adult spankee's today. Looking forward to the next part.

22 March 2013 05:11
gail said...
What a fluently written article. What impressed me most was the contrast of the cruel punitive punishment of that poor girl by the male headmaster with the almost loving punishment by the piano teacher. The one was brutal and for retribution, the other almost nurturing. No wonder it brought out any latent tendencies.
22 March 2013 21:23
AlanBarr said...
This promises to be a fascinating and far-ranging series of articles. Controversial US paddling cases, like the one referred to, seem to come along every couple of years and inevitably receive a lot of attention from communities like this one. A girl who feels she has been unjustly paddled must either keep quiet about it, or risk becoming the obbject of intense world-wide fetishistic fantasy if she goes public! The author has clearly worked out his own rationalisation of why we are so deeply drawn to such scenarios. I'm not sure I can identify with it in detail, but I very much like the way he links it to spirituality and creativity, I'm sure many of us would agree that our affinity for spanking is a very essential and mysterious part of ourselves, and runs deepr than, say, a liking for chocolate.
24 March 2013 15:53
PinkAngel said...
Very interesting indeed, I shall look forward to reading the next part of this!
25 March 2013 11:10
TomHobbes said...
Nicely written, courageous, thoughtful. Thank you for sharing your memories and thoughts and cannot but anticipate the future accretions. This is certainly an archetype one finds in a number of fictions based on facts.
26 March 2013 00:36
bendover said...
A well written article. Yes, I do remember the girl's story. As for the piano teacher in the article, I would think that was quite inappropriate with pants down or up, and 14 whacks with a cane is way over the top for anyone. I'd like to know what your parents thought about this punishment. What's with the failing grade punishment anyway? She was your piano teacher and not a parent.

However, it seems that you ended up daydreaming and nightdreaming about those punishments. You found it erotic and exciting, too. Not a bad thing.
26 March 2013 20:02
londonteacher said...
Thank you all for your kind comments! Responding to 'bendover', well... my parents did not know, of course. My piano teacher was all for informing my mother, assuming there would have been some accord... probably correctly. I had to beg her not to tell my mother, as she told me that either I accepted corporal punishment, or she would inform my mother that I was lazy and unteachable, and that would almost have been more shameful given the fee paid. I accepted the punishment on the understanding that the matter would be kept just between us. I see now that that's almost a 'grooming'.
26 March 2013 20:44
Sebastian said...
Very well written. How interesting about your emotional feelings with your piano teacher. These type feelings can be related to a baby sitter, aunt, sister as well as one's own mother. I certainly can relate to your feelings.
29 March 2013 03:46
sfOldBoy said...
Greatly enjoyed this article and looking forward to the rest. (Must we really wait four full months for the conclusion?)

While fiction stories are great and can go a lot further than true memoirs, when people set out to report their actual experiences, and even more, their recollection of their feelings and emotions at the time, it becomes something greater than imagination alone can create.

Thank you for this memoir. Hope it will encourage others to pass on their memories.
3 April 2013 12:07
toyman9600 said...
Wonderful story. Brought back a memory from my youth when my parents left me with a teenage female sitter.
10 April 2013 13:49
mati said...
Interesting start to a complex theme. Looking forward to the next parts.
11 April 2013 17:14

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