Harmony guessed she probably should have known. Probably nothing, she should have known. But somehow her temper and big mouth always got her into trouble. Just then the penny literally dropped and she growled in frustration. It had been her job to keep it pressed to the wall with her nose whilst holding her hemline up. But every time she moved the darn thing slipped and tumbled to the floor under the chair.

She quickly leaned back and close to panic she scanned the yard to see if he was coming back. The breeze chose that moment to pick up and the curtains to the French windows billowed-in and left her exposed to anyone in their or the neighbours back yard, which thankfully at the moment was nobody.

For some reason she hadn’t let go of the hem of her short A-line summer skirt, this even though there was nobody there to see. God he had her well-trained she scolded herself with a blush. But she had already cut way too big a portion of peril by doubting his resolve. Bare bottom corner time right next to the open French windows was about as much consequence as she could stand; especially when corner time came with the firm instruction that her panties had to be at her ankles. Not all the way off, mark you, but most definitely hobbling her around the ankles.

“If you even think about pulling them up, I will keep you like that for your chores for the rest of the weekend,” he had warned her, adding, “garden chores too.”

At 22, Harmony was a lively cheeky girl, and even if her mouth did sometimes run far too fast for her brain, she was popular with almost everyone. It was just that sometimes her fiery red-headed temperament got her in to trouble.

That was where Martin came in. At 28 he was the level head in their partnership, but then he needed to be. She had known he was the one since the day she had barbecued the 25-year-old grad student’s sneakers at the frat beach party in a fit of anger.

He had spanked her, right there in front of everyone and then told her, also in front of everyone that if she didn’t apologise he would spank her again on the bare bottom, right in front of everyone.

She had been a proud feisty 19-year-old back then and for the longest time she weighed the threat while everyone had laughed. To this day she didn’t know what she hoped would happen, but the die had been cast and seeing no way out she had offered him the bird with a double ‘fuck-you’ accompaniment.

He had effortlessly put across his knee and her shorts and panties had gone south and then she had learned of Martin’s resolve. It had taken until graduation to live down that summer of 1969 and by then they had been engaged.

Nor had that been the only time he had spanked her. He was the only man in her life who had ever known how to handle her and given her sassy mouth and temperament, that had meant spankings.

Mostly he had spanked in her in their bedroom using his hand. But sometimes, well quite often, if she were honest, he had spanked using her own hairbrush and then put her in the corner.

Corner time was a bitch, especially when she was required to stand bare-bottomed heedless of any friends or callers. Not that it was usually that overt. Mostly she had experienced being nose to the wall just yards from an unsuspecting visitor.

The worst and most embarrassing escapade had been when she had dared him to do his worst when her brother and sister-in-law had come for lunch one Sunday. He had spanked her soundly just half an hour before their arrival and she had still been in the corner as they had turned in the drive.

“Martin, please,” she had begged, “Come on…”

He had eyed her with that steely gaze of his.

“Do you promise to behave now?” he had asked.

Well she was standing in the corner of the family room wearing nothing but a tank top and her socks. So what else could she say but, “I promise.”

He had allowed her to put on an apron for the final preparations just as they entered the house. Even then her cherry red bottom had been left bare and she had had to keep her front forwards or stay behind the kitchen counter right up until she served.

“I should get changed first,” she had said pointedly while looking at Martin with pleading eyes.

He had broken off from a football story with Steve her brother to consider this. It had been one hell of a squirmy moment and not so much in a good way.

“I suppose you should,” he had said at last.

She must have looked comical as she sheepishly backed away from the counter. The glint in her sister-in-law’s eye suggested that she had at least half guessed what was going on.

All this had been before Martin’s trick with the penny.

Now often when she was out of line he made her hold a penny to the wall with her nose as she stood holding up her skirt behind. This was all very humbling and even a little embarrassing. Except that was when she had been spanked on a summer’s day with every window in the house open and made to stand in the corner by the open glass doors to the yard. Then it was very embarrassing.

And that was where she found herself today.

Harmony stole another glance into the yard then made an undignified scrabble on the floor to grab the penny. It was a bitch to place just so and almost impossible to do it unaided. But finally she got back into place.

Darn the man, she seethed. The last and only time he had caught her dropping the penny he had warned her that he would secure her thumbs behind her back the next time she was so careless. Then she would be spanked and have half hour added every time he had to reset the coin.

Outside she heard Martin at the gate and knew he was coming back. Harmony held her breath; maybe he would release her now? Then disaster struck.

“Martin,” said a masculine voice.

“Hey Frank,” Martin replied.

Frank was their neighbour, mercifully on the other side from the one that had an outlook into the room, which was just as well as he was almost always in his yard.

“I thought I heard some… applause earlier,” Frank said innocently, “Catching a game on TV?”

Harmony gaped into the wall and nearly dropped the penny again.

“No I have been checking out the car after…” Martin countered.

Darn the man, couldn’t he lie. But she knew Frank wouldn’t be fooled. She could almost hear his eyes swivelling towards the open yard door. Thank God Martin hadn’t put her in the opposite corner.

“Sorry about earlier,” Martin continued, “Was your car okay?”

“Oh sure,” Frank said dismissively, “She barely touched it.”

“Well… let me know if there are any damages and…” Martin began apologetically.

“Hey forget it,” Frank said expansively, “But hey, your wife,” he whistled, “She has some mouth on her.”

“Yeah,” Martin sighed, “Sorry about that.”

“Not that… you know, I’m just saying… I mean she was the one driving, I was just parked and I only ran over to see if she was okay,” Frank said placatingly.

“Yeah,” Martin sighed, “She was just scared, sorry about that.”

“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to the… eh… um… game,” Frank brought the conversation to a close.

Just then another voice came from outside.

“Hello Frank, Martin,” it was Mrs Pearson on the other side.

Harmony felt her heart surge with panic. The drapes were still or at least looked to be as far as she could tell from the corner of her eye, so hopefully she was still obscured from sight. But with two neighbours just yards from her place of shame Harmony was on tenterhooks.

“Hey Mrs Pearson,” Frank called over.

Harmony guessed from his silence that Martin had given the woman an unspoken greeting.

“Did anyone hear that spanking earlier?” Mrs Pearson asked as casually as she might have ordered bread. “Sounded like a girl, a big girl too. Aren’t your girls a bit old for a spanking Frank?” She sounded mildly disapproving, but it wasn’t clear if her displeasure was directed at the supposed naughty girl or the punishment.

Harmony went goggle-eyed and nearly swallowed her own head. Little flames touched her face and threatened to spread.

“Nah,” Frank chuckled, “My girls are still away with those friends of theirs at Lake Tahoe; been there since the semester ended.”

“Well I could have sworn that I heard an old fashioned spanking,” Mrs Pearson said, sounding aggrieved.

Harmony’s eyes darted back and forth as she pressed closer to the wall. Go away, she cursed the woman silently.

Someone coughed and Harmony imagined she could hear Frank’s embarrassment when he said, “I eh… thought I heard some applause earlier, maybe it was that.”

“No, this was definitely a spanking, believe me I would know,” Mrs Pearson said impatiently.

Harmony was about melt away when it got worse. A short gust of wind kicked up the drapes and exposed her to the yard.

“Oh my lord,” Mrs Pearson gasped. “Mercy me, can you see that?”

Harmony couldn’t help herself and the penny went tumbling to the ground with a tink-tink-tink and she whirled around to see the extent of her exposure. Mrs Pearson was gaping her direction with a shocked hand clamped to her mouth.

“Nope, not a thing,” Frank coughed, “See you Martin. Good luck with… the eh… the game.”

For a moment Harmony stood all a gangly with her panties plainly at her ankles framed by the door and then she dived for the drapes still dancing in the wind and tried to hide.

“Oh, oh I… I see,” Mrs Pearson spluttered, “I thought I heard a ruckus earlier… I mean… applause yes, I guess that’s what it was. Yes… I think I left the… goodbye Martin… oh… goodbye Harmony.”

The stop light-faced Harmony eyed the penny and wondered if there was any point picking it up as Martin came through the door.

“What did I tell you?” he said glaring at her and then the penny on the floor.

Harmony could only gape.

“The penny,” he sighed, “I told you not to move.”

“I know but…” Harmony wailed.

A moment later she was across his lap with her bottom bare again.

“Martin the door, the windows,” Harmony hissed.

Martin snatched up the hairbrush from where he had left it by the chair and let fly. The splat landing belied any handclap and must have been heard over on the street side.

“Martin,” Harmony screeched; her face screwing up as if she had been sucking lemons as her spanking began in earnest.

It took five more swats before Frank’s mower started up and a moment before that Harmony heard him cheerfully whistle. But by then she was already deep into full on broken boo-hoo sobs.

A cooling breeze for when she was back in the corner might be just the ticket, she thought miserably; so long as the wind wasn’t too energetic and Martin allowed her the luxury of closing the drapes again. God, she hoped he didn’t dream up any garden chores like he threatened.

The end

Perhaps it comes on the wind, for I have never seen it come another way. One day it is funny and then you can hardly believe what you did at all. But anyway, it was all so long ago now, and as the man said ‘it was another country.’

I was but a girl back then and much too young to know a single thing. Although at the time I would have spat in your eye if you had told me. I had finished even with big school and dreamed of college, imminently approaching, a woman grown now and free.

But for then the town beckoned and boys in pubs who Megan and I called men because they drank beer and stout until they fell down or smashed windows and faces when they didn’t.

“Be back by 10,” my father said. I didn’t tell Megan of this chain.

But Megan had temporal chains of her own and I laughed at her when she told me.

“Home by 10.30 like a child,” I said and laughed again.

For a moment I considered dread and the weight of father’s wrath if I should be so late, but then what could he do? I was a woman now.

The pub was wild and we sang to the old juke box while sipping Babycham with a slice of lime and an umbrella. In those days you knew you had scored when a boy bought you two or three Dalek-stems. This is what we called them on account of the glasses that looked like appendages of the pepper pot foes on that TV show of the time. This meant you had to have a snog in the alley round back.

If you liked the boy then his hand might stray into your blouse and stay there for a slow count until you slapped him. The slap meant you weren’t a slut and could tell the girls of your outrage until next time. But next time you hoped he would make a play for your knickers. While at the same time you hoped he wouldn’t. Oh the contradictions of a woman, you then believed. But outcomes here were never spoken of as a slap did not counter slapper and the envious catcalls whispered around town.

Just before 10 I decided to miss the bus, but Megan made doe eyes at the clock.

“She has to be in by 10.30 you see,” I teased loudly so that the boys could hear.

Megan looked so lovely in red, although the boys did not laugh so much. One or two drifting away as if to night club appointments, but the town had none. But I was happy enough to run for the 10.15 up the hill; my father might only gently scold if I was less than half the hour late. But as we hit the street the big red bus was a diminishing square as it retreated up the road and Megan looked sick.

“What will he do?” I ask, “Your Da I mean.”

Megan pulled a face I had once seen at the headmaster’s door when we were called as truants. Three on the bum is nothing for a big girl, but I knew that it was the letter home she feared and not old beaky’s stick.

But we are women now and 18; all the world was waiting for our wisdom, which we could hardly contain. In those days even my mouth was smart.

The last bus never came and so we trudged it two miles to the lane where we both lived, Megan’s house being nine doors down from ours.

“Good night Meg,” I said more cheerily than I felt.

Megan did not say the empty words; her footfalls were too leaden with doom. I remembered the letter home and I think then so did she.

Halfway home I conceived of mischief and fuelled by four or five Babychams I crept back to the kitchen window in the lane by Megan’s backdoor.

The shouting was over and slippers had been drawn. Well one anyway and I swallowed my giggle as something thrilled within me.

“Da I’m too old,” Megan wailed, but it did not save her bottom.

Bent over knee and unseemly bared, she was polished with wallops and wailed as she was whaled.

The colour red suited her no less than it had in the pub, only then it had been at her other end. This was much more fun and for long minutes Megan’s Da was John Wayne and this was a movie.

The cherry red spheres bucked for a time until finally they were sent to cool at the wall while Megan’s skirt was held ruefully bunched at her waist as knickers settled at half-mast in mourning. The show wasn’t over then, but home beckoned and I was happy then to doubt my womanhood if stingy caresses was my peril.

Would I be spanked like Megan, all red, sore and sorry while standing in the corner like a bad girl? I knew everything back then, as I told you, but I could not then fathom why this idea thrilled me so. Never had a return home been so exciting.

“You’re late,” heralded my humble entrance.

“Last bus was cancelled,” I said meekly and shuffled in the doorway.

“Bloody typical,” said my father before sending me to bed unspanked.

Now I look back, this rite of passage was an unfulfilment for me. Unlike Megan, who has dined out on the spanking revelations of her youth, which are mental erotica for one of my disposition. If only I had such an adventure to call upon in my dreams, but sometimes youth is wasted on the young.

This may be old news to some, especially Dr Who fans, but for years there have been rumours of a lost spanking episode of Dr Who. The legend goes that a serial of four episodes entitled Prison in Space was scripted and rehearsed to be shown in or around 1967.

I had always assumed that this was a joke or at the very least a bit of fan fiction, but as diehard Whovians will know back in 2010 Big Finish productions revived this script for a BBC audio (visual?) tape production after the script was found by original Dr Who actor Frazer Hines in his garage.

The story stars Frazer and his former co-star Wendy Padbury who revive their original roles as Dr Who companions and narrate the whole thing. I have not heard it myself but one review suggests that it is heavy with BDSM imaginary and was originally intended to feature racy skimpy costumes.

However, this was not the reason it was not made. Apparently the producers felt it was too comic and bordered on farce and shelved it.

The story itself concerns a satirical story line where in the future society is ruled by women and any dissenters are sent to this prison in space. Never one to shy away from supressing tyranny the Doctor and his companions, 21^st century Zoe (Wendy Padbury) and Scottish Highlander Jamie (Frazer Hines), decide to intervene.

The Doctor and Jamie are imprisoned and Zoe is brainwashed to be a supporter of the regime. Jamie (Frazer Hines), The Doctor (Patrick Troughton), and Zoe (Wendy Padbury) from DrWho in 1967 are pictured above.

Controversially the story includes a shower scene and more to the point for readers here a ‘long spanking.’ Jamie, a character who was apparently often threatening to take a belt to young girls on the show, actually spanks Zoe to re-programme her.

I understand that the story itself is mostly if not entirely audio but there is a suggestion in the review that there are art stills (see above) to support the narrative.

You can read the review here and acquire the Dr Who box set here.

One of my earliest memories of exposure to spanking was through comics. Mostly it was a school setting and there was something about it that intrigued me. It was pure gold when I girl was getting spanked or caned although these incidents were rare.

As I got older and Marvel beckoned Susan Storm (AKA The Invisible Woman) was a regular recipient and I began to see that not only was there was spanking beyond school but that apparently women were never too old to be spanked. In fact in comic world women were more likely to be spanked than schoolgirls.

I did not realise then that the golden age had passed and that gender politics had reared its boring but necessary head even in comics so I missed out on many great scenes. It was remiss of me to favour Marvel over DC as the latter was much slower in embracing political correctness and even in my day spankings seem to have been more frequent in these comics.

Looking back what surprises me (or would have in those days) is the amount of romance magazines aimed at girls that included spanking. Some of the pictures I have discovered are probably from adult BD comics from the continent and would not have been available to me until much later anyway.

Above and in a future posts I will republish a handful of images of this type, all of which I chanced upon on vanilla blogs and sites and many of which I had not seen before.

The Chicago Spanking Review (linked right) probably already has most of these and many more like them.

Inspired by theatrical spanking posts over at the Spank Statement I did some futile digging into stage incidents of our favourite subject. It wasn’t entirely fruitful and I only turned up one play that was described but not named. I am only sure that it is a real play because it was later turned into a 1930s movie that I have actually seen. If I ever identify it I will report back, but drop me a line if you know it; more about that in a moment.

Amid several different historical stage discussion groups, including Theatre Forum and especially Yahoo, I chanced upon a strange theatrical tradition. Apparently during the 20^th century it was the custom in some theatres to spank the leading actresses for luck.

Details were scant but I did find these snippet from MariaNotaDame, a former minor stage actress who was 19 in a series of 1950s and 60s provincial productions, and Janet.

Maria says,

“I went looking for the director and leading man about a script issue and found them in one of the other girl’s dressing rooms. The poor creature had been upended and was receiving a jolly serious little spanking on the seat of her tights. Apparently they had this bottom smacking tradition as well. I was a bit flustered and even more so when George said ‘it’s your turn.’”

“Being 19 and in one of my first jobs I didn’t dare refuse, besides I didn’t want to be a party pooper. But I have to say it was rather disconcerting to be across the director’s knee getting my bottom soundly slapped with gusto. I had had lighter spankings at home and I confess I yelled a bit and was jolly sore. Luckily my part didn’t require much sitting. I was pretty red back there afterwards.”

Janet, a former chorus girl, said,

“We had rather a lot of that sort of thing too. Hell to pay if you had one of those spanking plays. In one production of Kiss Me Kate the leading lady got one hell of an off-stage spanking right before the onstage segment. She didn’t have to act much when it came to not sitting down either.”

One of the spanking plays Kate mentions might well have been the unidentified play I uncovered. It features the headmaster of a public school for boys who is suddenly lumbered with his three nieces, two being late teens and one 21. As you can imagine chaos ensues and the girls become involved with some of the older boys and a teacher.

Apparently there is a caning scene of the youngest girl and her twin brother, whose is student, and later apparently all three girls are apparently caned. Sorry that is vague but it was a very passing reference.

In the movie, if it is the same play and memory serves, the canings are all off-screen. In the final act the girls confess to sins attributed to two younger girls’ boyfriends to save them from a punishment.

“If you must cane someone, cane us,” pipes up the middle girl.

“Yes, we at least deserve,” says the youngest.

“Steady on, I wouldn’t go that far,” says the eldest.

“I would,” says the headmaster.

“But I’m 21,” protests the elder.

Her uncle demurs somewhat but grabs his cane and leads the youngest girl from the room. “I’ll be back to deal with you after,” he says to the other two as he goes.

The two older girls look worried and rub at their bottoms.

I have no idea if the caning is onscreen in the play and I cannot even remember what the movie or the play is called, but the film used to be one of those black and white efforts thrown up occasionally in the afternoon. I posted about it before but there were no takers.

There is something disturbing and fun about this picture. They look like police, but what is going on? I believe the woman is the Italian porn actress Maria Grazia Buccella, pictured in the early 1960s.