From the Top Shelf - Octavia

Jilly Cooper is a UK journalist and the author of many bestselling novels. This excerpt from Octavia, written in the 1970s, was sent to me by one of my readers, who also provided the following introduction.

Octavia, an obnoxious 26-year-old spoiled society beauty, is handled by a Welshman Gareth who is having as weekend break with her in the country. They are at a "country set" party and she is slightly drunk. She describes herself thus:

Upstairs in the bathroom, I hardly recognized myself. I looked like some Maenad, my hair tousled, my eyes glittering, my cheeks flushed. God, the dress was so beautiful. It was a short tunic in silver chain mail - the holes as big as half crowns - high necked in front, it swooped to positive indecency at the back. Two very inadequate circles of silver sequins covered my breasts. I didn't wear anything underneath except a pair of flesh-coloured pants, which gave the impression I wasn't wearing anything at all.

"Will you stop behaving like a whore!" he swore at me and, pulling me into the nearest bedroom, threw me on the bed and locked the door.

"Now I suppose you're going to treat me like a whore," I spat at him. "What will your precious Lorna say if she catches us here together?"

Suddenly I was frightened. There was murder in his eyes.

"It's about time someone taught you a lesson" he said, coming towards me. "And I'm afraid it's going to be me."

Before I realised it, Gareth had me across his knee. I've never known what living daylights were before, but he was certainly beating them out of me now. I started to scream and kick.

"Shut up," he said viciously. "No one can hear you". The record player was still booming downstairs. I struggled and tried to bite him but he was far too strong for me. It was not so much the pain as the ghastly indignity. It seemed to go on for ever and ever. Finally he tipped me on to the floor. I lay there trembling with fear.

"Get up," he said brusquely, "and get your things together. I'm taking you back to the boat."

She is sick, so he puts her to bed. Later:

"I'm sorry," I said, rolling my head back and forth on the pillow "I'm so terribly sorry". In a flash I saw him as the father, strict, yet loving and caring, that all my life I'd missed; someone to say stop when I went too far, someone to mind if I behaved badly, to be proud if I behaved well.

The book was made into a TV movie in 2009. Has anyone seen it?

Romantic Fiction for April

Prisoner of My Desire by Johanna Lindsey is one of her more violent romantic novels. Set in England in the twelfth century, it's a tale of squabbling barons, misappropriated inheritances and abundant domestic violence.

Our heroine is Rowena, who is coerced by her stepbrother Gilbert into agreeing to marry a man she despises. Gilbert accompanies her to her intended's castle to make sure the marriage is consummated. When Rowena manages to escape defloration,Gilbert doesn't take it well.

She held her breath when he approached, suddenly horribly afraid that she was going to be forced into some new act that she would despise. But when she heard what he had to say, she would have laughed if she did not think he would slap her for it.

Due to a series of unfortunate events—including her unwillingness to divulge her true identity, the evil Lady Beatrix's machinations, and because it makes for a more interesting story—Rowena is forced to live as a slave in the household. She becomes the personal property of Warrick, a stern and cold master. While serving him at the table, her thoughts are rebellious.

Did no one ever defy him? Did no one ever deliberately provoke his anger. A stupid thought, since even when he was not frowning, he was frightening. And no matter how angry he made her, she did not have the nerve to tempt a beating or other added punishment—not yet.

Their subsequent interactions are full of innuendos; titillating but never actually resulting in anything significant. While attending to him in the bath:

Her feet had felt wooden as she approached him with the soft drying cloth. And his cold voice had not relieved her any.

"On your knees again," he had ordered. "And take care, wench, that you do not miss a single drop of moisture. Do I catch a chill because of your negligence, I will beat you for it."

He said this as if his other threats of beating had lacked substance. She doubted that, but was concerned only with this threat.

A hunger strike and subsequent attempt to escape are both thwarted by Warrick as he catches up with her when she is stopped at the main door.

Rowena did not have a chance to figure out a way around that sword or the young man holding it. She was lifted off the floor from behind, and Warrick commanded, "Put that away, Bernard, and go and wake the cook." But the moment the boy had left to do as bidden, the hard voice turned softly menacing to whisper in her ear, "If you had not earned a punishment before, wench, you have now—but first I must feed you."

Warrick's daughter, Lady Beatrix, causes mischief whenever she can. After she sends Rowena on a false errand, he is angry to find our heroine neglecting her other duties.

Explain to me why I should not punish you for being where you do not belong!"

"I thought 'twas a punishment, my being sent to him. Now you tell me I am to be punished for doing as I was bidden? if you dare—"

He shook her once. "You were not bidden to come here. If you speak that lie again, so help me, I will not order you beaten, I will do it myself!"

Beatrix becomes more devious in her schemes, and Rowena bewails her inevitable fate as her friend warns her of what Beatrix has planned.

Rowena closed her eyes against full understanding. "She is going to say I stole from her."

"Aye, and her most valuable trinket, a pearl necklace given her by Warrick. Melisant will support her, to say that you were the last one seen outside their room ere it was found missing. Beatrix will then demand a search of the weaving room, as well as Warrick's chamber, and whilst there, she will pull the necklace out of its supposed hiding place, confirming your guilt."

"And she will not even have to insist I be put in the dungeon. 'Twill be done no matter what, until Warrick's return, and he is likely to believe her tale. So often he called me a little thief. He will be forced to punish me severely—mayhap a whipping or—"

...There was the chance that he might believe her if she was given the opportunity to declare her innocence. But 'twas a slim possibility considering what he knew about her—naught much thanks to Gilbert—and she was not willing to risk a whipping or worse just so his daughter could have her revenge against him.

Rowena attempts to explain that she is innocent, and that Beatrix is the real problem. Warrick isn't easily convinced.

"You see now why I had to leave," she said bitterly. "I cannot acquit myself with other than what I have just told you. 'Tis you who will have to do so by proving my accuser a liar—else will you have to punish me with the severity that this crime demands."

She felt him stiffen [!] at those words. "Damn you, wench, what did you do to cause such enmity in this woman?"

Rowena took heart. The question said he believed her—or wanted to.

"I did naught," she said simply. "'Tis not even me she wants to hurt, but you. And with me gone, she may not have accused me at all, or even reported the theft. 'Twould have served no purpose. With me returned, however, she may yet decide to do it, to force you to punish me."

..."You will tell me who the lady is who thinks to hurt me through you, and you will tell me now."

..."Do not ask me that. If she changes her mind, deciding to do naught, then she redeems herself and should not be punished for what she plotted in the heat of anger. If not, you will know soon enough."

His scowl was blacker than ever... A chill went down her back, for he looked like the very devil, sitting there passing judgment on her...then he sounded like it too.

"I will decide who deserves punishment," he warned her.

Lady Beatrix is finally found out and her lies about Rowena are exposed. Retribution is swift and severe.

Warrick whipped his daughter right there in the hall for all to see, and he used the thick leather of his sword belt. Rowena's leaned back in the chair she had been allowed to use and closed her eyes to it, but she could not close out the sound. It was a brutal walloping. Beatrix's screams became hoarse, her pleadings pitiful to listen to. Rowena had to bite her lip to keep from trying to end it sooner than Warrick deemed sufficient. By the time he was through, his daughter was utterly repentant, and utterly cowed.

Warrick and Rowena are in love, of course, and marry. As he rides off into the sunset to fight a battle, he asks her:

"Will you miss me, wench."

"When half my duties go with you."

He whacked her bottom. "That was not a proper answer for your lord."

And they lived happily ever after.

Romantic Fiction for the Holidays

The Devil Who Tamed Her by Johanna Lindsey is the story of a man who wagers that he can tame a very badly-behaved young lady after she breaks off her engagement to his friend.

The title sounded promising, rather Taming of the Shrew-ish, so I quickly flipped through in search of threats of spanking and perhaps a little OTK action. There were the usual eye-catchers -- strapping young men, whipping hair, striking beauty -- but then I came across this little passage:

He tsked at her. "Your temper is showing, Phelia. This would be an excellent time to work on controlling it, don't you think?"

...She shot off the couch and began pacing, which completely distracted him from their conversation. Watching the swish of her skirt and how it moved on her backside...

"Who was that?" she asked, stopping to stare at the portrait above the mantel..

He reluctantly drew his eyes off her derrière to follow her gaze. "My grandmother Agatha."

At least we know he's a man who likes bottoms. Moving along to the next chapter, I found a bit of physical contact. I've omitted a good deal of non-essential description and kept the parts suggestive of spanking.

"She gasped and glared at him. "You really are two-faced, aren't you? You deceive and lull with your amusing jocularity only so you can sneak up from behind and go straight for the jugular. I can't believe I was lulled into forgetting that about you."

"No longer quite so tranquil?"

"No, damn you!"

"Good," he said, and dragged her across his lap...

Her anger reappeared with shocking speed. It was as if she'd been shielded by a curtain made thick by her own delusions that was abruptly opened, and there in the audience were all her bitter emotions applauding that she could no longer hide from them...

He leaned back on the sofa and without much ado positioned her so she was lying on top of him... The position gave him full access to her body...his hands were free to wander over her back and lower... He'd slowly been raising her skirt. When he suddenly changed their position, there was no cloth to hold him back... He fumbled with the clothes still between them. She heard a tear--her drawers... No sooner did it feel wonderfully pleasant than it started to hurt. She pressed back away from the pain, but it followed her, increased to where she started to cry out.

Almost like a spanking if you squint your eyes and use your imagination, right? I'm afraid there's not much else, besides some derrière clasping here and there in subsequent chapters.

Wait. There's more. This conversation between the two men who made the bet seems to clarify his non-spanking stance.

"Once you take the time to get to know her, she's quite wonderful."

Duncan started to laugh. "Now I know you're pulling my leg. What did you do, abduct her and beat her to meekness?"

"Something like that," Raphael said cryptically with an abashed grin. "But you'll be able to see for yourself that I'm not joking about this. Talk with her tonight, you'll be amazed. She might even apologize to you..."

"Very well, this I have to see. And I'd like to know how you managed this miracle without beating the shrewishness out of her."

"Well, there's beating, and there's browbeating, and there's simply opening her eyes for her to see how others perceive her actions."

So the man is no Petruccio. Perhaps I'll have better luck next time.

Romantic Fiction for Summer

I spotted some kinky gems in a novel by the well-known writer of romantic fiction, Johanna Lindsey. Say You Love Me is about a young woman who, after the death of her parents, goes to live with her aunt and uncle. She and her younger sister have barely settled in when she learns that her uncle has lost his job and must sell the house. The only solution - according to him - is for Kelsey to sell herself at auction at a high-class establishment that procures women for rich men. The proceeds will pay off her uncle's debts and her sister will be guaranteed a home. Sounds reasonable, right?

Upon arriving at the house of ill-repute, Kelsey learns from the owner what some men and women enjoy:

What worried her, however, considering just how much Uncle Elliott owed, and what she finally asked Lonny, was "Do you really think anyone will pay that much?"

"Oh, yes," he replied with complete confidence. "These rich nabobs have nothing else to spend their money on. Horses, women and gambling are their major pursuits. I'm happy to supply two out of three, and any other vice they have a desire for, short of murder."

"Any vice?"

He chuckled. "Dearie, you would be surprised what some of these lords - and ladies - request. Why, I've got one countess who comes her at least twice a month and pays me to supply her with a different lord each time who will whip her - carefully, of course - and treat her like a lowly slave."

Two young gentlemen are discussing the house of ill-repute as they await the upcoming auction:

"They say any fetish or fantasy can be found here, no matter how bizarre one's particular tastes run. And I believe it now, having seen Lord Ashford's driver outside. Would be afraid a girl here would hand me some chains the minute I walk in her room."

Lord Ashford, the villain of the story, does indeed need to whip his female partners to achieve sexual satisfaction. He was a participant in the bidding, and Kelsey's impression of him was not favourable:

He looked cruel. That was the single word that kept coming to mind. She wasn't sure why. The slant of his thin lips, perhaps? The narrowed, cold gleam in his light blue eyes as he watched her squirm beneath his gaze? The chill that had run down her spine when she first caught his eye on her?

There is a conversation between the gentlemen about Ashford's sexual preferences that leave us in no doubt that he is a sadist:

"We had a run-in with him not so long ago one night when we were down by the waterfront. Found him severely whipping a tavern wench he'd tied to a bed...to prepare himself to have sex with her. If she hadn't worked the gag out of her mouth, we never would have heard her screams."

The wench refused to press charges against him because she had consented to it:

"She was in too much pain that night to even talk coherently, but when I went back to find her a week later, when she was beginning to mend, she flatly refused to point a legal finger at him...he'd paid her handsomely up front, more money than she could have made in two or three years doing what she does... She admitted she knew what he was going to do and had agreed."

Lord Ashford may have been outbid at the auction, but he doesn't forget the lovely Kelsey. After much plotting, he kidnaps her and takes her to his secret underground dungeon.

Kelsey was staring in mesmerized horror at that narrow bed out in the middle of the room; the bed had leather straps with thick buckles attached to its four corners. Her fear got the better of her, seeing those straps. She'd have no hope left if they were put on her, and she didn't doubt by then that was exactly what Ashford intended.

Kelsey manages to escape for a time, hiding in another part of the house. There was no escape from Lord Ashford's voice:

"The time has come for your punishment, my pretty. You can't escape... You will be punished even more for this foolishness, I promise you. I will be better for you if you reveal yourself now."

Inevitably, the young lady is recaptured and left in the capable hands of the servant John while Ashford goes to the kitchen for a meal:

She'd delayed him only a little while when she had run from him. But he'd wanted her to do that. It was part of his overall entertainment. Since this delay was only for his own comfort, he could actually be back in a matter of minutes.

John was still there. He'd been told to finish putting on her restraints and he did just that, rolling her to the side so he could untie her hands, twisting her actually farther than her muscles wanted to allow. And he kept her in that position while he strapped the leather around one wrist, because it kept her other arm from interfering, still trapped under and behind her as it was.

He left the room when he was finished, but he didn't go far. She could hear him working the lock on one of the other rooms...

John came back... Across her stomach he laid three whips of different designs and lengths - and a knife. Ashford's tools. The ones he was going to use on her. She'd lifted her head to stare at them, couldn't take her eyes off them.
(When John left) Kelsey heaved her back off the bed the second the door closed, to knock the whips and the knife onto the floor.

When Ashford returned, Kelsey tried to engage him in conversation to postpone the inevitable. It worked for a while, but then:

...she had merely delayed her punishment. She was frantic to continue putting it off. Not that she expected some miracle to occur to stop it altogether...

He looked down for his whips and tsked when he couldn't find them right off. He had to bend down to lift the material of her dress to find one of them, but he stood back up with it in his hand. It was short-handled, with many long, thin strips of leather dangling from it. He rubbed the handle against his cheek fondly...

He laid the whip across her bare legs so he could remove his coat. Her legs wouldn't bend enough to dislodge it. And just the feel of that leather on her bare skin started her trembling...

She sucked in her breath sharply. He'd picked up the whip and slashed it across her thighs. Welts rose in several places, but the skin hadn't broken. And he laid the whip back on her to finish undressing himself.

And that's all. Her master and his friends arrived in the nick of time and saved her.

Aside from the explicit talk of BDSM, there were a few juicy morsels scattered here and there that any spanko reader wouldn't fail to miss:

The two gentlemen from the auction - one of whom has purchased Kelsey - talking about going to a ball, where mistresses are not allowed:

"Can't say I'd have the fortitude to leave a spanking-new mistress to hie off to a gathering that doesn't promise to be any different from any other gathering that we've attended."

Kelsey has a caller:

When she went downstairs, she found Lord Derek waiting in the foyer, rather than Jeremy, and he was slapping a pair of gloves against his thighs in an impatient manner.

Lord Derek flirts with his father,s housekeeper, but she wards him off:

"Here now, none of that. Can't be giving the servants the wrong idea."
He laughed and swatted her on the backside before sauntering down the hall...

Just to put your minds at rest, Lord Derek - the man who bought her at the auction - makes an honest woman of her. They marry and live happily ever after.

Romantic Fiction for Spring

The last time I went to get a haircut, I took along a romantic novel by Johanna Lindsey. To pass the time, I leafed through it at moderate speed, searching for spanking references. I didn't actually care what the book was about; I simply needed enough material for a post. Every time I found an interesting word or description, I stuck a post-it flag beside the passage, and carried on.

My hair stylist has never commented on my choice of reading material in the past, but wouldn't you know it? That day she asked why I was sticking post-its in the book.

Tell the truth? Never. I had to think fast.

"I'm making notes for a book club. Those are the passages I'm going to discuss." Not too far from the truth.

But she didn't let it go at that. Perhaps she figured she had a subject that I wanted to discuss. So off she went into question mode.

"Where does your book club meet?" "What kind of books do you read?" "Who chooses the books?" On and on it went, until my hair was finished. I won't bring the post-its again. Turning down the page will have to do.

The bright side is, I really did find a decent spanking story, and I'll share it with you soon. I also found another that, while there wasn't any OTK action, is worth talking about now. It's called A Rogue of My Own. I mentioned above that I go through these novels quite quickly. My eyes scan each page for some reference to TTWD and I can rely on them to pick up any nuance. So while the book was spankless, I found several gems that are pretty appropriate when taken out of context:

"She doesn't really have a verbal whip."

Or did he forget she was wearing breeches?

"I knew you were smart as a whip, m'dear."

"She doesn't strike me as competent."

But his remark smacked of insincerity...

Too bad it didn't hit him and only landed at his feet.

"If you wanted to hit me, luv, a slap would have been more in line, don't you think?"

...if she didn't have him to browbeat and try to whip into shape, he was sure she would flounder.

Her petticoat was lifted out of the way, her drawers tossed aside, and suddenly she had more heat than she bargained for...

"Did I tie a gag over your mouth?"

He was twirling her drawers about on his finger.

He felt a twinge of discomfort...

"And keep your eyes off my arse!"

It wasn't anger that brought tears to her eyes.

"This isn't a good time to test my patience."

He did it curtly, as if he were completing a task assigned to him, which gave her the odd feeling that he was punishing her.

He didn't want to stand that bloody high on his toes!

"It gives her purpose, to think she still needs to whip me into shape."

"Uppity wench."

She only grew thorns when he picked her petals.

"Never live your fantasies. Keep them up here" - Alberton tapped his head - "always out of reach."

"You were sitting here earlier tonight thinking of me with my breeches off."

Lilly winced at the pain...

"Will you please forgive me?"

Romantic Coupons

On Valentine's Day we shared a book of romantic coupons.* Some of them were run of the mill romantic, but there were a few that lent themselves very nicely to spanking.

Let's see... I'll be a milkmaid and you can be the farmer.

Surprise me with a belt, a paddle, a cane...

I know exactly the kind of special treatment my bottom needs.

It doesn't get any better than this!

Or does it? Clue, anyone?

I suspect Ron will enjoy receiving this one the most.


*They are written in both English and French because in Canada we have two official languages.

More Romantic Fiction for Fall

When we left Brigitte, the heroine of Johanna Lindsey's So Speaks the Heart, last week, she had just received a beating for running away to avoid being forced to marry a man she detested. Rowland, the knight who found her and brought her home, spent the night with her in her chamber. Evil Aunt Druoga assumed (incorrectly, as it happens) that Brigitte was no longer a virgin, and called off the wedding. She also gave Brigitte to Rowland as his servant.

We resume our exploration of spanking nuances as Brigitte sits on a bench and waits for Rowland, prior to their departure. A man she does not know has joined her on the bench and is chatting with her. Rowland doesn't like what he sees and intervenes.

He reached down and yanked Brigitte to her feet. She started to protest his roughness, but thought better of it when she caught his icy glare.

"Do you know this man?"

"No."

"...Are you always this way with strangers?" Rowland demanded harshly.


"I did nothing wrong. I was in need of a friendly smile."

"That is not what you are in need of," Rowland said ominously.

He did not give Brigitte a chance to reply, but gripped her arm and jerked her away from the inn. She was embarrassed at being dragged behind him like a naughty child...

That sounds promising. A little later, after they have travelled all day and have stopped for the night, Brigitte suggests they part when they reach a certain town. Rowland has other ideas.

"I will hear nothing about parting, and I warn you, do not provoke me."

"Why do you hate me so?"

"Do you not hate me as well?" he asked casually.

She looked at him in surprise. "If you think I hate you simply because of your rough treatment of me since we left, then you are wrong."

"So you think I am rough, do you?"

"Certainly you are," she replied indignantly. "You have threatened me, and you bullied me at the hostelry, as if I had no right to speak to whomever I please."

"You have no rights at all."

Brigitte attempts to explain that she is no serf, but the daughter of a baron. Rowland is not impressed.

"It matters not what you were before. What you are now is my servant. You are bound to me, and if I hear you deny it once more, I will take a strap to your back."

Sounds fair to me.

Later, after he has gone in search of food and she has taken a bath in the icy river, he returns to find she has not started a fire as he had ordered he to.

"Come here, girl. Where have you been?"

Brigitte hesitated. She knew that tone... His hand caught her arm and slid down it, coming away wet.

"So a swim was more important than starting a fire against this chill?"

He hadn't struck her, and she took courage from that... One of his arms closed around her waist.

"Perhaps I can warm you better than the fire, eh?" He pulled her closer and reached for her belt.

It sounds like this could result in either spanking or lovemaking. I had hoped for the former, but was disappointed. But then, so was Rowland, as she slips out of his grasp and runs away. He catches her, of course.

"Where is the wench who fainted in fear the moment I laid her on my bed?"

"You praise yourself too much," she answered tartly. "I fainted from the pain in my back, not from fear of you."

"What was wrong with your back?"

"I was beaten, thanks to you."

Rowland frowned and gently placed her on his blanket near the fire. Against her murmured protests, he removed her belt and tunic, then raised her clothing and touched the area that no longer bothered her. Then he pushed her back down on the blanket and looked at her sharply.

"Does it still pain you?"

"No, why?"

"You still have bruises. A beating that would leave such violent marks a week later must have been very bad."

So he neither spanks nor seduces her then. You and I know he will do both, eventually.

Now let's move on to the travellers' destination, Rowland's father's castle. Brigitte has assumed the role of personal servant to Rowland, and takes her job very seriously, because she knows the consequences. While having a chat with a newcomer in the Hall, during which she confides her true identity, she interrupts the conversation:

"Rowland is here," Brigitte said to her new friend. "I must get his food."

Gui rose indignantly. "No, Lady Brigitte. You must not serve like a common serf."

"Oh, but I must," she replied, "or he will beat me."

And beat her he does.

But not just yet. Rowland finds out she has told her story to Gui, and is angry that she is telling lies in the hope of finding a protector.

"If you must beat me, Rowland, use a whip," she whispered. "I could not survive a blow from your fist, not when you are so angry."

But we are again forced to wait. Brigitte escapes during the night with her faithful dog, Wolff. (I told you she runs away a lot.) Naturally, Rowland finds them both in the woods.

Her eyes flew back to Rowland, and she saw that he had Wolff secured to the tree. And the reason he was tying her dog before he had said one word to her became clear. Rowland had something so terrible planned that he could not let Wolff loose. Before that thought even fully registered, Brigitte ran to her horse as if her life depended on it.

But she had waited too long. Her mantle was caught well before she reached the horse, and the clasp at her throat nearly choked her as she was jerked to a halt and then swung toward the fire. She fell to the ground...

She saw Rowland's boots next to her, planted far apart. She looked a little higher and saw his hands removing his belt... Before Brigitte could find the words to plead with him, Rowland's belt descended on her back. She gasped and cried out. He struck her again, and she screamed... By then, she was curled tightly in a ball, cringing as she waited for another lash. It did not come...

That's all, I'm afraid. He scolds her, she is unrepentant, they argue, and he makes her promise not to run away again. She refuses, and he explodes:

"Be damned!" he rasped, throwing a stick into the fire, sending sparks flying. "Then I cannot promise not to beat you again, And the next time you may not be so heavily clothed."

"I would expect no less of you," Brigitte snapped.

When they return to the castle, Brigitte must face an inquisition, because she stole a horse to escape. Rowland's evil stepmother is in charge.

"So?" Hedda demands of Rowland. "Will you have her stripped and flogged in the courtyard? The horrible example she has set must be corrected."

Rowland replied, "I have already punished her."

"If you did, it is not enough!" Hedda snapped. "She moves easily, without pain!"

Rowland rose, a threatening gleam in his eye. "Do you doubt my word, lady? Do you wish to feel what Brigitte suffered?" He reached for his belt.

Go, Rowland!! I'll skip the details, but the two young people eventually find their way into bed together and Brigitte no longer feels the need to escape from Rowland. The next passage finds them awakening after a night of passion. Rowland rises. No, I mean he gets out of bed.

Brigitte grinned and stretched languidly. "Are you certain you wish to leave now?" she asked, her eyes gleaming.

"Ah, damosel, do not tempt me," he groaned, turning away to find her clothes. She giggled, and he threw her clothes at her for punishment. "You will pay for that tonight, I promise you," he growled.

"I will look forward to it," she teased... He crushed her to him once again, then released her and whacked her behind. "Get dressed, wench."

And they lived happily ever after.

Romantic Fiction for Fall

It's been a while since I explored works of romantic fiction for spanking scenes, but I happened across a stack of Johanna Lindsey novels and thought I'd try my luck.

The first one I examined, So Speaks the Heart, was an inspired choice. Set in France in 972 A.D., it had plenty of percussive talk and action.

The story is about Brigitte, a young woman done out of her rightful inheritance by her aunt, an evil woman who has designs on the estate after her brother-in-law dies. In true Cinderella fashion, wicked Aunt Druoda forces her niece to give up her fine clothes and toil as a servant. She tries to arrange a marriage between Brigitte and a wealthy but elderly landowner. When the girl refuses and runs away, she is apprehended by Rowland, a handsome knight who understandably thinks she is a runaway serf. He returns her to her aunt, who has her beaten for trying to escape.

Druoda gives her maid Hildegard her orders.

"I have something more important for you to do," Druoda said, glancing venomously in the direction of Brigitte's quarters. "The girl almost succeeded in escaping today, even with those fools I hired to prevent it. If not for the knight, she would have succeeded, and all we have achieved would be lost even now."


"You want her beaten?"


"Severely. Be sure to bind her mouth. I do not want the whole manor to know about it, but I want her to suffer as much pain as possible so that she will be in no condition to escape again. Do not draw blood. Wilhelm would not want his bride marred." Druoda smiled at her old friend. "I am sure he will take pleasure in marring her himself, if what I have heard about him is true."

So Brigitte is betrothed to a man who takes pleasure in inflicting pain. This could be interesting. I hope she stops this running away nonsense and agrees to the marriage. But I digress.

Brigitte lay motionless on her pallet, letting her tears fall freely. But crying only made her muscles jerk and the slightest movement was agony.


She still could not believe what they had done to her. She had only just finished washing her muddy clothes when Hildegard and the two guard burst into her room. She was stripped of her worn gown and gagged, and did not even have time to feel humiliated at being exposed to the two men before she was thrown face down on the mat and held fast by the guards. And then came the pain, as Hildegard let loose with her leather strap. It was as if fire licked across her back each time the strap came down, and she could do nothing but cry out against the gag in her mouth. She lost consciousness before she felt the last blow, and when she awoke she found herself alone, still naked.


She began to cry again, but only for a moment. She could not give up!

It doesn't look promising for her intended bridegroom. In fact, Brigitte has a fondness for escaping, regardless of where she is or whom she is with. But more about that next time. Yes, there is more spanking in this novel. Quite a lot, actually. And I'll share it all with you here.

Romantic Fiction Again

Joining, another novel by Johanna Lindsay, is about (wait for it) a strong-willed young woman who rides and hunts with a bow. She's betrothed to a man she doesn't wish to marry, and there is plenty of rebellious behaviour.

Our prospective groom knows what he should have done:

He should have clouted her smartly as she deserved.

Yet he didn't. He knows there's going to be trouble and asks his friend for advice.

"But how do you teach a wench not to be a shrew when she is born a shrew?"

I have an idea. But he doesn't.

"The first time she narrows those cattish eyes at me..."
"You'll what?"
Wulfric sighed. "I wish I knew."

Obviously nobody thought to spank this lovely young lady. She had been out of control while growing up and was now considered hopeless.

They had tried everything they could without seriously hurting her, and mild punishments had done no good.

It's pretty obvious there will be no spanking in this book. A later conversation confirms that suspicion.

"When have I ever given you reason to think that I might beat you?"

Very little, unfortunately. The betrothed couple eventually marry, still at odds with one another. They were married, and there was one final episode that made me hope that all was not lost on the spanking front.

"Methinks 'tis time you got what you deserve." So saying, he took her hand, dragged her out of the hall, up the stairs, straight into their bedchamber, where he then slammed shut the door. She had not once tried to stop him, too shocked that this was to be the result of a few harsh words between them. But then she had known it would come to this eventually, and that she would despise him for it. She had expected no less from a brute such as he, had known to expect it, which was why she hadn't wanted to marry him. But so soon after the wedding?!

When she felt no blows yet, she forced herself to look at him... He was staring at her, but his expression was now inscrutable. She was herself so tense now, she could have shattered in a strong breeze.

"What are you waiting for?" She demanded, but got no answer. "Will you beat me or not?"

Wulfric still didn't answer for a moment, but then he sighed. "'Tis not a matter of 'will' but of 'can', and I cannot."
"Why?"
"I would rather cut off my own hand than cause you the least little harm."
She stared at him wide-eyed, and then she started to cry, those words having gone deep to wrench at her heart.

Perhaps she could get an annulment.

The two then discover that the reason for their mutual distrust was all a misunderstanding, and they lived as happily ever after as they could without spankings.

The Sound of Wings

My dear husband likes routines, and thinks long and hard before altering any of the usual patterns in his day to day life. Change doesn't come easily for him. I know this and am quite comfortable with it, and try not to surprise him too often with spontaneous suggestions.

That's why I couldn't believe my ears when Ron told me one Friday evening recently that he had decided to switch our regular date from Sunday to Saturday. (I don't recall seeing any pigs fluttering past our window.) Sunday had been our special time, reserved for intimacy of some sort, for more years than I can remember. What had prompted this change?

I asked him, and he reminded me that Sundays didn't seem to be working out too well lately. That was true. What with special activities related to the holiday season, our seasonal colds and flu, and too much snow shoveling, we had often had to reschedule or even cancel our regular play. Then of course there's Sunday football, and I had always wondered why Ron was so willing to interrupt his enjoyment of the game for a totally different but equally (I hope) enjoyable activity.

So there you have it. Saturday it is, and so far it seems to be working out quite well. For some reason we both aren't as tired on that day as we usually are by Sunday afternoon, so we have plenty of energy for spanking and whatever else Ron has in mind. He can enjoy football the next day without watching the clock, and I have a comfortable, peaceful feeling that a spanking always produces, that lasts through the remainder of the weekend. As much as I enjoy being spanked, there is always a certain amount of apprehension and anxiety that occurs as the time draws closer, and with that feeling out of the way sooner, I can enjoy the afterglow (or afterburn) the following day, while I'm doing pleasant things at home, instead of forgetting the pleasure in the busyness of a new week at work.

This was definitely a change for the better. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go get ready.

From the Top Shelf - Rocking Horse

This is a charming passage from Maid's Night In, written in 1988 by that prolific writer, Anonymous. I hope you enjoy it.

"We shall go to the attic," he said. His hand held mine--enclasped and covered it. As we rose his foot nudged the wine bottle and it fell. We gazed at each other and smiled.


"You will come, Beatrice? It is for the last time." There was a sadness.


We ascended, our footsteps quiet...no one had ever seen me go to the attic with him. It was our game, our secret. Our purity.


We entered by the ladder and stood. In the far corner near the dormer window stood the rocking horse, grey and mottled. Benign and handsome--polished in its varnished paint--it brooded upon the long gone days. His hand held mine still. He led me forward. My knees touched the brocaded cloth of an armchair whose seat had sagged. Upon it lay a mirror and a brush, both backed with tortoiseshell. They were as I had used of old up here.


He turned his back to me and gazed out through the glass upon the tops of the elms. A trembling arose in me which I stilled. With slow care I removed my dress, my underskirt, and laid them on the chair. Beneath I wore a white batiste chemise with white drawers whose ribbons adorned the pale of my thighs. My silk brown stockings glistened. I waited.


He turned. he regarded me gravely and moved toward me. "You have grown. Even in three years you have grown," he said. "Where shall you ride to?"


I laughed. "To Jericho," I replied. I had always said that though I did not know where it was. Nodding, his hand sought the brush. I held the mirror. With long firm strokes of the bristles he glossed and straightened my hair. Its weight lay across my shoulders, in its lightness. Its goldness shone and he was pleased.


"It is good. The weather is fair for the journey. Will my lady mount?"


We stepped forward. He held the horse's reins to keep it still. Once there had been a time when my legs could hold almost straight upon the horse. Now that I was grown more I had to bend my knees too much. My bottom slid back over the rear of the saddle and projected beyond the smooth grey haunches. He moved behind me and began to rock the horse with one hand. With the other he smacked my outstretched bottom gently.


"My beautiful pumpkin--it is larger now," he murmured. My shoulders sagged. In the uprising of my bottom I pressed my face against the strong curved neck of the horse. It rocked faster. I clung as I had always clung. The old plank floor swayed and dipped beneath me. His palm smacked first one cheek and then the other.


"Oh! no more!" I gasped. All was repetition.


"it is far to Jericho," he laughed. I could feel his happiness in my head. The cheeks of my bottom burned and stung. My knees trembled. The bars of the stirrups held tight under the soles of my boots.


"No more!" I begged. His hand smacked on. I could feel the impress of his fingers on my own.


"Two miles--you are soon there. What will you do when you arrive?"


"I shall have handmaidens. They will bathe and perfume me. I shall lie on a silken couch. they will bring me wine."


I remembered all the words. I had made them up in my dreams and brought them out into the daylight.


"I may visit you and share your wine?" he asked. His hand fell in a last resounding smack. I gasped out yes. I fell sideways and he caught me. He lifted me until my heels unhooked from the stirrups. I sagged against him. My nether cheeks flared...I clenched my bottom cheeks and hid my face against his chest.


"It was good. I should bring the whip to you henceforth," he murmured.


The words were new. They were not part of our play. Had I forgotten the words? Perhaps we had rehearsed them once. In their smallness they lay scattered in the dust. Dried flecks of spokenness.


"It would hurt," I said.


"No, it is small. Stand still." I did not know what to do with my hands. He was gone to the far corner of the attic and returned. In his hands was a soft leather case. He opened it. There was a whip. The handle was carved in ebony, the end bulbous. There were carvings as of veins along the stem. From the other end exuded strands of leather. I judged them not more than twenty-five inches long. The tapered ends were loosely knotted.


"Soon, perhaps. Lay it for now beneath your pillow, Beatrice."


So saying he cast aside the case and I took the whip. At the knob end was a silky smoothness. The thongs hung down by my thigh... Broad trails of heat stirred in my bottom still... The handle of the whip felt warm as if it had never ceased being touched.

Romantic Fiction

The romantic novels of Johanna Lindsey often contain threats of spankings and sometimes descriptions of actual ones. I've shared the good bits from one of her books here.

I sampled two more of her novels, with less success. This is the first; the second is for another day.

Fires of Winter is about a strong-willed young woman who dresses like a man, is an expert rider and can use a sword effectively. The plot deals with her adventures with a Viking and his attempts to tame and seduce her.

The book starts out with a reference almost immediately. After falling from her horse,

Pride was more bruised than the rear end on which the rider had landed, and with a hand pressed firmly against the offending area, the [girl] continued on to the village. ...She felt as if every muscle in her lower region ached...she had been hard pressed to keep from flinching every time she moved about in Enid's cottage, but a strong will had kept the pain from showing on her delicate features.

This strong young lady was, of course, a virgin, and there was a lot of mystery and misinformation surrounding the topic of intimate relations. Our heroine, Brenna, is told by an unhappy older woman that

"you will learn that you must bear your pain in silence, else the man will beat you. 'Tis a wonder more women do not cut their throats rather than submit to such agony every night."

Enter our Viking hero. She has been captured and is now his slave, but he has his work cut out for him. He starts out well:

"Since Yarmille seems at a loss to know what to do with you, 'tis fortunate that I have come to take you in hand."

"How so?...what do you mean, you will take me in hand?"

Good question. A little later, they scuffle, and he manages to subdue her.

"Careful, wench," he warned her menacingly. "Or you will get the beating you so greatly deserve."

"So you also beat defenseless women? Is there no end to your despicable ways?"

He doesn't beat her then. A little later he tries again:

"I have tolerated much from you," Garrick said in a voice as cold as ice. "But no more. 'Tis time you learned fully what being owned entails."

"What have you in mind, Viking?"

"A sound thrashing to begin with," he said and started to approach her.

Nope. Didn't happen then either. Our Viking has met his match. He also seems to have doubts about overpowering her physically.

He should have followed his first impulse, which was to beat her. But he had been appalled at the thought of striking her...

But if he can't spank her, perhaps he can find someone who can.

"I will have you whipped, mistress," he said coldly.

"Then do it now, damn you, Viking!" she stormed. "I will not be threatened!"

"You would like that, eh?" He took her wrists and ...

Wait a minute. Is he a Canadian Viking? (In case you didn't know, Canadians stereotypically end their sentences with "eh?") But I digress. And no, he doesn't carry out his threat.

Apparently other people actually do get punished. When our heroine asks a servant to let her into a secret locked room, he refuses.

"I must not, Mistress Brenna. It would mean a whipping if the master found out."

Of course he gives in and she ultimately escapes. Our Viking discusses the matter with his father, who offers to help look for her.

"Nay, I will do this myself. She needs a lesson taught that she will not soon forget."

He finds Brenna. I knew he would. Brave to the end,

She faced him squarely, her bearing defiant. "And now, Viking?"

"Now I will take you home."

"To be punished?"

"You were warned what would happen if you chose the course. Do you think that because you warmed my bed on occasion, I would be lenient with you?"

"Nay, I did not expect that of you."

She's really begging for a spanking, don't you think? But no, it never happens. The best he can do, a few chapters on, is this:

He made as if to strike her, but instead shoved her away from him, and she fell back against the bed....His words struck her harder than his hand would have.

And there you have it. All talk and innuendo, no action. In case you may still be slightly interested, she gives up cross-dressing and they live happily ever after.

Romantic Fiction

Recently I had some time to relax away from work, and thought I'd read something light. The excellent reference book The Compleat Spanker provides a list of mainstream authors whose works often include spanking, so I chose a romantic novel by Johanna Lindsey. The title Man of my Dreams sounded promising. The story is set in the year 1878 and involves a spoiled rich girl, a duke, horses, and deception.

I gave it a whirl and wasn't disappointed. As early as page 35 I found this:

"...I'm also a horse trainer...I treat them all like women--with a gentle hand for the most part, a firm one when needed, and a good slap to the hindquarters when they get too feisty."

The next reference followed soon after, on page 53. The man who spoke the previous word starts the dialogue with the 18-year-old young lady:

"Shall I demonstrate?"
"No!"
"Too bad. You do look so nice in pink."


He was referring to her blushes...

And again on page 80:

"Do you remember what I told you I do to horses and women who get too feisty?" He asked in a softly menacing tone. Megan could only nod, words failing her. "You're due."

It's getting closer on page 109:

"I'll wager your father has never laid a disciplinary hand on you, has he?"
She didn't mistake his meaning. "You wouldn't dare."
"I believe you know I would dare. Care to put it to the test?"

If there's any doubt in your mind at this point that this is a mainstream spanking book, this should convince you - the name of the male character doing all the talking is Devlin.

At last here's the spanking, on page 203, after she has been caught riding her horse bareback in the middle of the night:

"Someone has to teach you some sense, and come to think of it, there's no time like the present."

He caught her hand and started dragging her to the mounting block. Megan's mouth dropped open, her eyes widened incredulously, and she was a little bit in shock, knowing exactly what the amn intended doing.

"Wait a minute, Devlin, you can't really...I'll have you arrested. I'll have you--"

She landed hard across his knees the moment he sat down on the mounting block. She was about to scream her head off when he said, "Making a lot of noise won't stop me, brat. It'll just draw you an audience to watch."

The first smack was a revelation. It made a lot of noise when his hand connected with her bottom, though it didn't actually hurt. She'd forgotten that she had worn one of her thickest riding skirts. Well, the joke was on Devlin, but she'd never tell. Of course, that was only the first whack. By the time he finished, and that was quite a while later, repetition had made silk out of thick wool, and Megan didn't feel like laughing.

After another 200 pages of nonsense, they lived happily ever after.