The Library of Spanking Fiction: Wellred Weekly
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Articles
Items of interest regarding all things spanking
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Recollections: Discovering Sensual Spanking Kilahara, or Ross as he was known to his friends, sadly passed away in 2009 but some years ago he wrote an account of his early spanking influences which we have now edited to form part of our Recollections series. The only way to explain the glories of sensual spanking as they appear to me requires an examination of just how my personal interest and enthusiasm came to be and to evolve. There are two main theories on how many people discover the pleasures of 'This Thing We Do' (TTWD), and how it can become a part of their being and a source of joy. To some people the root of the interest is believed to be in nature, our genetic being. In other words, some of us are born with the fascination. Another school of thought begs to differ, insisting that nurture, experience to be precise, is the key. For people like me, who take an eclectic approach to the major schools of developmental psychology, a combination of the two makes sense. Regardless of how others see it, it is my firm conviction that the basic interest was born within me, while pleasure and appreciation were formed through experiences, especially in early years, both real and otherwise. The delightful sensations of spanking thrill me and bring pleasure. In order to present my case, it appears that the best way to begin is through a personal odyssey from the beginning. The Dawn of Awareness In his autobiography, Sir Lawrence Olivier noted that his first conscious memory from childhood involved a spanking, and the story of his life starts from there. Whether or not the great actor of stage and screen, a boyhood hero of mine, remained enthralled by this thing that fascinates us, is uncertain in my mind. What is certain is that Sir Lawrence and I shared a similar moment of awakening. How old I was at the time remains unknown. Two years is a possibility, but it could have been less; toddler times for certain. There is no recollection of speech on my part as the scene unfolded, yet memories of my thoughts, the words of others, and the event itself remain vivid along with the sensations of the moment. It happened in the house where I was born, in Canada. My grandfather, a writer and amateur musician, was playing the piano in the conservatory. There was nobody else around, except the dog, and he was sleeping. The conservatory work table was much higher than me, which made it a challenge. A chair made the challenge possible and soon I was standing on the table, looking down at my grandfather. "Look at me, Grandy," I thought, I don’t think I could say it yet. Grandy looked back and up, smiled, and said something and continued to play. Suddenly my mother was there, and everything seemed to happen in a blur of motion. I was lifted abruptly from my eyrie. Somehow, (who knows how adults accomplish these things?) Mummy was seated on the sewing machine box, my pants were down, and then I was lying on my tummy across her lap, examining the grain patterns in the oak floor. This was a new experience entirely! The position felt comfortable, non-threatening, but why had she put me there? There was a sound of smacks, and my bottom felt suddenly hot and sore, but not terribly so. In a strange way it felt good. I didn’t cry. Hugs followed. "You are a brave boy. You didn’t cry," Mummy said. Then she stood me up, looked at me, and said, "You must never do that again, or I will have to give you another spanking." So that was a spanking! I was vaguely aware that my brother and sister sometimes had spankings, but had no idea what they were. I knew they got them in their bedrooms or sometimes the living room, but I never saw. Now I knew! Spankings! My bottom felt good afterward. The word was thrilling. Spankings! Exciting, private, secret. I absorbed the word. Spankings. Somehow a door had been opened into the future. Despite that delight in the discovery, I don’t think I ever climbed up on a table again, at least not for years. Perhaps I learned two lessons that day, but one of them was almost certainly not what my mother had intended. Of course there were more spankings after that, probably ending for me at home about the age of eleven. There were not too many, although I did grow up in a period when spanking, or worse, was perfectly normal, and an accepted part of everyone’s childhood, at home, school and elsewhere, at least in Canada, Ireland and England, the countries I knew. Possibly because of that seminal event, the word spanking has always meant a smacked bottom, the traditional across the lap position, and usually with the necessary clothing removed. There was never any hint of abuse. The older one got, however, the more embarrassing the ritual became. To my eternal mortification, I once heard my mother say to a rather young and pretty woman whose daughter was in my class, "I find spankings are effective, because they hurt their pride more than their bottoms." That was true, and as far as I can remember, a spanking never made me cry. In our house, most spankings were given by our mother and analysing the probable effect of childhood imprinting or nurturing on my current attitude and interest in spanking, that aspect of our family life may have had a good deal to do with my associating spankings with the opposite sex, although no doubt sexual orientation plays a part in that. Everything about spankings became fascinating in my mind, whether they were my spankings or someone else's, and a number of my neighbourhood friends, surprisingly, felt much the same. Spankings were a frequent topic of conversation from perhaps the age of four or five, as we moved from the parallel play stage to cooperative and communicative play as social skills developed. Describing experiences after a spanking to the 'in' group was common. Discipline in most homes in our middle or upper middle-class neighbourhood was very similar, so attitudes among us were compatible. Most wanted spankings, yet avoided them as much as possible, because the embarrassment or humiliation was difficult to face. From a very young age fantasies abounded and were often shared. While we were too young and small in stature to imagine the possibility of giving spankings ourselves, the dreams and fantasies were mainly of being spanked by a young adult or maybe a teenager of the opposite sex who was in some way attractive. Of course the actuality of sex was beyond our comprehension and did not enter into it, although the physical sensations could not be denied, although not understood. Boys, certainly, experienced 'protoeroticism.' We all, boys and girls, knew that it felt good, even if it hurt. The Girl Next Door Of course there was a girl next door, as in all good stories. In fact there were two, one in each of the adjacent houses. Susan and I were both five years old and would play together, if there was nobody else around. She was one of those very much aware of spankings, at home and abroad. Her clerical father and his wife were well aware of the Biblical injunction, 'Spare the rod and spoil the child.' She was not shy about discussing such experiences and inquiring about those of others. The two of us were in our backyard, lying on the grass, watching, if memory serves, a parade of ants. We were on our tummies, more or less forming the letter T. "I broke one of Mummy’s good dishes last night," Susan announced, looking over at me. For some reason there was a slender stick in my hand. "What did she do?" Of course I asked the appropriate question. For some reason, long forgotten, I stood up, the thin switch grasped firmly. Susan stayed where she was. "Guess!” she said, and reaching back, lifted her skirt. I saw her panties and the shape of her bottom! Susan then pointed at the slender rod in my hand. "Do it!" she said, and giggled. I patted her behind lightly with the slim stick, overcoming a strange and powerful urge to use my hand instead. Another door into the future was opened, albeit slightly, for the five year-old me. Possibilities broadened. With that experience, and perhaps a missed opportunity that still spawned fantasies, the idea of spanking as well as being spanked was absorbed. Life was looking better! Another incident was imprinted. continued... |
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