That figures

You're given a gift and you think what's the message here, don't you? There's usually a sub-text. So, what would the giver be saying  here?
I was doing some online research today of an entirely vanilla kind and up popped this strange little china ornament that, of course, caught my attention. It was on an auction site and the vendor said it was a Victorian china fairing (the page is old and it had been sold).
He or she added: "Come home late and this is what you get...got, back in the Victorian era. A good whopping. This original antique China Fairing was made by Conta Boehme of Germany in the late 1800s. These porcelain china fairings were given away as prizes at fairs. The caption on this fairing is 'Returning at One O'clock in the Morning'...We can't tell if this is the husband or a naughty teen boy, but someone's getting a good spanking from mom and her hairbrush."
Is that Mom? To me he and she are a couple and she's teaching him that there's a cost to coming home after curfew.
Anyway, doing a bit more reading it sounds like fairings were prizes, but were also bought as gifts or souvenirs. What would you be trying to say to somebody you gave 'Returning at One O'clock in the Morning' to? 

Never alone

We're at that end of the summer when life gets to be just about unbearable. Since about the time of my last post the house has been full most of the time and for me any sort of play is way off the agenda; even thinking about TTWD is a no-go area.
Younger daughter is around all the time as her friends are away on holiday. Older daughter is back from university and has her boyfriend here - I suggest trips, but they seem to want to do nothing but lay about watching TV all day.
To make mattesr worse, me and SO had a blazing row a few days ago and it has never really been resolved. A lot of it was down to my brattiness and under normal circumstances it would be sorted out in the bedroom with The Hairbrush playing its UN Peacekeeping role.
However, doing just a little bit of darkside blog visiting last night I came across a post at A Voice in the Corner that set my nerve-endings a-flicker like the bulbs in a string of faulty Christmas lights. I'm not sure if I totally believe the story of Bristol's Victorian disciplinary B&B, but it had my imagination heading off in all sorts of directions.

At £100 a year a stay with Mrs Smith sounds like excellent value for money, and I like the sound of the ethos of her establishment. I can recognise my own failings in Mrs Smith's opinion that "some girls are idle constitutionally, this must be cured; others have a superfluous amount of energy, this needs to be well directed".

I manage to idle and to have too much energy at the same time. I'm sure Mrs Smith's birch would have straightened me out. If she were still in business I'd be tempted to book myself in - at least until term-time starts again and private time is an option once again. 

Take that

What happened next? I reckon the Woman in Black cornered her adversary, threw down the riding switch and then wrestled her over her knee. Under a barrage of spanks guilt was admitted - and only then were a dozen good stripes with the switch applied.
Maybe not, but I do like the way spanking art lubricates the imagination. I came across this one at The Spanking Art Blog and it caught my eye.

I've done some searching for pages about Sarah Bernhardt and there's plenty to read. She does sound like a bit of a brat, but I can't find any mention of Marie Solombe - wonder what the real story was?

Too tempting...

As you know if you've ever spent time on this blog, I love all things 19th Century. I grew into my spanko kink in the days before the internet and it was vintage erotica that opened the door to self-discovery.
All those gloomy Gothic country houses with their stern guardians and strict, no-nonsense governesses... And, of course, lots of forbidden sexual activity.
You rarely come across 21st Century imagery that gets anywhere near capturing the laced-in passion of it all. I love the work of artists from the time like Lewis Bald, but when photographers and videographers have a go at creating a 19th Century scenario it's usually a disaster. So, I was thrilled to see that Dreams of Spanking have ventured again into Victorian/Edwardian country - because they do it so well.

I'm so busy at the moment with real world writing that I try very hard to be good and to keep away from reading spanko-world blogs - I can waste whole days blog-hopping. But I have to share my enthusiasm for 'The Edwardian Governess'.
I really do LOVE the costumes - they are so convincing. For me, there is something so incredibly sexy about a reddened bot peeping out from virgin-white old-style bloomers.
Actually, I think of them as drawers rather than bloomers. Not sure what the difference is, but my pair were 'lost in action' recently and I really could do with finding replacements.
And doesn't Pandora make a scarily strict governess. She has such a presence on the screen.

Time travel

Apparently Queen Victoria put on fresh hand-made silk underwear every day of her adult life. Each day her drawers were unworn and fresh out of the packet (brand-spanking new, you could say).
And in 1837, at 18, she had a 20in waist while that had become a 56in waist by the 1890s.  I owe both those factoids to a blog called Kate Tattersall, which also has lots of other interesting things to say about Victorian life.
I came across it today because thought I'd revisit old topics to celebrate the fact that I've just passed the 200,000 hits mark, which I find unbelievable. To mark the milestone I've been having a quick look back to November last year and my very first post here.
And I'm a bit mystified as to why I just jumped straight in with Queen Victoria's drawers (but not into them). Why no gentle introduction? Anyway, Queen Victoria's silk drawers were auctioned and someone paid £10,000 for them.
At the time I didn't give the story much in the way of context, so I'll put that right by sharing some of what the Kate Tattersall blog has to say on drawers. It says that they weren't worn much until the second half of the 19th Century - it was the fashion for crinolines that got girls into undies.
The problem was that if a gust of wind lifted your crinoline you were in trouble unless you had drawers to hide your bare essentials. Drawers were split leggings and about knee length.
Each leg was separate and joined together only at the waistband which left the crotch seam open. Having pants with that opening there seems like a bit of an invitation to me, but then I guess it represents the height of modesty compared with wearing nothing at all.
A last thought, a buyer paid £10K for Victoria's pants at an auction, but Her Maj apparently wore a new pair everyday. Doesn't that means that somebody, somewhere has to be sitting on lots of royal knickers that could all be turned into easy money?

Situation vacant

She's young, nervous and impressionable in most Victorian novels, sadistic and sensual in classic erotica like 'The English Governess' while today an image search for the g-word is st likely to come up with pictures of a woman with a whip in something shiny and black.
I have the whole governess thing on my mind again at the moment because I'm working on a sequel to 'A Week in the Country' and one of the characters who carries over to the new novel is Miss Harwood, the governess. Looking at her again I was struck that she doesn't have much depth as a character compared with most of the others - she lacks a 'back story'.
So, I need to give her an earlier life. But there's so much myth-making around the role of the Victorian governess that it's hard to get an idea of who real governesses were. These ads from the late 1840s throw some light on it: governesses, housekeepers and companions were clearly betwixt and between, as my granny would have put it. 
In a household the governess was a step ahead of the servant class and a good step behind her employer - not one or the other. The women in the ads are clearly well educated and are selling their skills as being an ideal femininity - they detail their knowledge of drawing, dancing, music and ornamental needlework (no mention of maths, of course). 

They are young middle-class girls, but seem to have modest ambitions. For example, when Rose at Mrs Walpole's touches on pay she's only asking for a "moderate salary". 
Which means that my Harriet is rather a long way from this 1840s reality. She's older, ambitious and a great deal more self-possessed, so I need to invent a journey that will get her from a meek teen looking for a moderate wage to a cane-wielding 40-something who won't take crap from anybody. Interesting.

PS And, of course, the Times job ads make no mention of that most important accomplishment for any governess who makes an appearance in erotic fiction - her understanding of domestic discipline. Maybe that was just a given...

Write stuff

Hurrah, I'm writing again. After months getting bogged down with my World War Two novel I've decided to put it to one side and go back to where I'm most comfortable - the Victorian country house.

I've decided to get some of the characters from 'A Week in the Country' out of retirement and let them play again. And it's fun. Here's a paragraph or two of the three or four pages I wrote today on a train (it feels really wicked writing spanko fiction on public transport...)

“I'm so sorry, mam. So very sorry. It won't happen again…”

“Good. Glad to hear it," Flick said."That'll be all…”

“You must be so disappointed…”

“A little, Edna. But these things happen,” Flick replied, distractedly. “You can run along now…”

She turned away from the maid and went to the window. Cook seemed to be preparing some sort of fish dish and the cooking smell had begun to reach the Day Room.

As Flick opened the window she noticed Charles crossing the drive some distance of the house. The dogs were at his heels and he had his gun under his arm.

Turning, she was confronted by Edna's big bottom. While Flick had been at the window the housemaid had turned around, bent over and pulled skirt and petticoats up over her head.

Her drawers could barely contain the generous curves of Edna's bum and her quim and bumhole pushed out shamelessly. It really was getting a bit tiresome, Flick thought to herself.

“I know it's what I deserve, mam…” Edna's voice was muffled, but quite firm. The maid knew what she wanted and, when the mood was on her, was dogged in her pursuit of it.

“The cane's on the table, mam,” she said. "Can you see it... are you there..." Oh dear God, thought Flick, how bored I am of all this Lady of the Manor business. 

PS To mark the moment I've decided to offer downloads of 'A Week in the Country' for the next month at a special price. Follow this link to its Amazon page.

Please sir...

What a face? If you can't do the time, don't do the crime. My philosophy is that when a girl's done wrong she needs to take what's coming as cheerfully as possible.
Or maybe there's some play acting going on and it's more of a Oliver Twist 'please, sir , I want more' situation.

Horse play

When is a horse not a horse? That is the question. Or the question that comes out of the book I’ve just been reading.
Let me explain. Our family visit has ended and one of our visitors left a book behind, which I’ve been reading it. It’s detective fiction, which I don’t usually go for, but I’ve really got into this one.
It’s called ‘Shadow of the Serpent’ by David Ashton. What I like best is that it’s set in Victorian Edinburgh, which is making me want to go back to writing about my ‘A Month in the Country’ characters.
Anyway, here’s the thing. All of the sudden the action moves to an upmarket brothel run by a woman called Jean. Among the ‘menu’ of experiences  on offer is a dominatrix in the cellar.
David Ashton writes: "Jean had spent a fortune on that cellar, the high point of which had been the purchase of the Berkley Horse. The apparatus had been shipped from London and arrived shrouded in thick white canvas like apiece of sculpture…"
The cellar was also kitted out with a range of flogging implements including "an array of canes which ranged from thin and pliant to thick and thunderous". Jean is called to deal with a customer who has a complaint about the thoroughness of the treatment he is getting from the house dominatrix, Francine.
Jean puts her straight. ‘"The client’s desires are paramount. Give him what he wants. Here I’ll make a start for ye.’ So saying, she took a thin birch rod from where it had been soaking in water to keep it green and pliant, then brought it down with considerable force on the man’s buttocks. There was a indrawn breath in response, and a thin smear of blood showed where the blow had landed.’
So, a little startle and then the story moves on. But it left me wondering what a Berkley Horse could be...
A bit of searching online sort of answers the question. But also poses another others. I’d imagined something like the vaulting horse we used to have in school and that’s how it looks here.
But then elsewhere it’s more like an A-frame shape, like an artist’s easel. Some confusion, but I did like reading about Mrs Theresa Berkley, who sounds a great character; I’m thinking that a sequel to ‘A Month’ needs to have its own Mrs Berkley and her horse, too.

So, was there a real Berkley Horse? Apparently there was and it was named after it's creator. Or I guess she didn't actually get handy with the saw, but she had it created to her spec.

One article I came across says Mrs.Berkley became famous for her invention "a multi-functional device which combined the delights of being a spanking bench with several other erotic functions". Apparently she made a fortune estimated at £15,000 during the eight years running her Establishment in central London.

Personally, being tied to furniture isn't my thing so I'm quite happy to be left wondering about the horse's shape and form. But I'm rather fascinated by Mrs B herself.

There's an interesting essay on women like Theresa at a site called the Flagellation Sourcesheet. It quotes Henry Ashbee's 'Index of Forbidden Books', which was written in the late Nineteenth Century, saying: "Mrs Theresa Berkley, of No 28 Charlotte Street, Portland Place; she was a perfect mistress of her art, understood how to satisfy her clients, and was, moreover, a thorough woman of business, for she amassed during her career a considerable sum of money."

I find myself wanting to know much more about Mrs Berkley. How did she get into such a specialised line of business? What sort of background did she come from? Was flagellation purely business, or was she mixing business with pleasure?

The Sourcesheet essay throws up one intriguing detail. It says that after Theresa's death her brother, who had been a missionary in Australia, arrived in England. He was in a position to inherit his wealthy sister's estate, but "when he learned the source from which the property she had left him had been derived, he renounced all claim".

Apparently, in his absene her estate went to her doctor, including old letters. They including some "from the highest personages, male and female, in the land". Clearly, Theresa wasn'#t a girl from the slums (given that her brother was a clergyman) and she provided a service to a nicer class of bottom. 

Last, but not least. I wanted to find an image to post as a parting though so I googled for 'victorian' and 'dominatrix'. It offers up a very wide and varied selection of images, but given issues of copyright I didn't feel comfortable posting any - instead I'll leave you with a series of links to look at, if you care to.

It seems that those two words conjure up thoughts of vampires,updos, scary ladies, chic ones and dressing-up.

Thought for the day PS

Should be working, but instead I'm surfing through Spankoland and found that other (great) minds have been pondering the big knicks/small knicks question. Thanks to Devlin O'Neill I now that what I've been calling "big Victorian knickers" are actually pantelettes.

Until recently I had a pair of big victorians - sorry, pantelettes - hidden away at the back of a drawer. The drawers drawer that is. Sadly they suffered damage "in action" and had to be buried with full military honours...

Shame and spanking

'Oh, the shame of it. Stripped bare and soundly spanked...' No, not me - stripped bare and soundly spanked sounds good to me - but my 1940s heroine Beryl.
Working on the Victorian novel 'A Week in the Country' I found shame turning up on a regular basis. It's very much part of the whole Victorian erotic sensibility, isn't it? 

Sort of 'as her bottom was bared she was overwhelmed by the shame of it and covered her face...' It seems to just right for all those disobedient maids, fearsome governesses and old-school squires.

But it seems less appropriate in a 1940s setting. Embarrassment, yes. Shame, no. I don't think Beryl's shameless, but she's a lot more matter of fact about sex, nudity and the rest. If she has to take it on the bare bottom she'll take it on the chin, if you see what I mean.

The birch - and branching out

It seemed like a good idea. Not a birch, more a birchette or a maybe a birchling. With Significant Other not at work and the kids out and about the opportunity was there for a bit of play.
Spring is already in the air here and I'd been out in the garden and what does a spanko's fancy turn to around growing things? Whippy switches, of course, and that leading character in any classic Victorian erotic yarn, Miss Birch.

So I looked out the secateurs and got snipping. Sadly no actual birch in our garden (note to head gardener - please rectify this oversight) so I thought I'd try willow instead.
And I wasn't in the mood for anything too Gothic, so I went for delicate little foot-long twigs.
Bound together with a couple of elastic bands it made the sort of pretty little rod that a Victorian nanny might have put to good use, rather than an avenging paterfamilias, but was something we could 'work' with.
I thought of adding a ribbon, but didn't want to waste precious time.What I had in mind was recreating a bit of 'A Week in the Country', or something rather like it. Not exactly this, but this kind of thing:

'You’re a wicked girl and this time I’ll make sure you get the lesson you so richly deserve, she says, bringing the birch down with all her strength. The twigs hiss through the air to lash across bumcheeks that flinch in anticipation of the impact. The rod whips back to shoulder height then falls again as the mistress settles into a steady, remorseless rhythm. After keeping her peace for the first dozen the maid lets out a squeal of distress at each of the punishing blows that follow.'

Didn't quite work out that way sadly. SO did indignant really well, while I protested my innocence and begged for mercy. But the birchette, birchling or whatever was a serious disappointment. Three of the twigs snapped on the first stroke and the whole thing promptly imploded.
And our moment imploded too - into giggling. Ruined the mood. Won't bother with willow next time.

Some confusion, surely?

From personal expereince I can say that the birch is a CP implement that has its problems, but I'm pretty sure something is wrong here. Madam, I think you're in danger of missing the point. Another little gem discovered at my current pash, Wickedknickers. At some time in the future I'm planning a 'Week in the Country II' to give my favourite heroine Flick new life and I think this pic could be the inspiration for a scene.

Viva the Fifties

It feels like I haven't had a moment to myself for weeks now, what with travelling, visiting family and spending nights sharing unbearable budget hotel rooms with snoring kids. No surfing, no blogging and no time to disappear into the fantasyland that is spanko fiction project no. 2 (poor Beryl must feel very neglected).

Image: olderoticart.tumblr.com

I'd even forgotten that my little blog poll on the subject of historical period as fantasy setting has come to an end. It was a close run thing with 1950s/60s beating the Victorian period by just one vote, but the sample of just 37 votes isn't what you'd call statisically significant...

If you did vote, many thanks. I think I may have made a mistake though, as with hindsight I think 1940s and 1950s would have gone together much better. Lumping in the 1950s and 1960s doesn't really work. The uptight, guilt-ridden 1950s don't sit well with all that 1960s free love stuff, do they?

Anyway, I need to go and get ready to see in 2012. Have a great night wherever you are and I hope you'll enjoy exploring the theme of the strict, no-nonsense 1950s with me during the coming year.

Your democratic duty

Assume a position

Not much time left now to cast your vote in my time machine poll. So hurry, hurry and do your bit to further democracy.
I've done years of blog lurking myself, so I know how it works. Many pass by, few comment. But a quick poll vote can make a weary blogger's day, honestly.

What I'm after is an idea of where you go when you're enjoying a little spanko fantasy. Come clean, where does your mucky little mind wander off to? 

At the moment it looks like a majority of you share my liking for the tight-laced corsets and uptight morals of the Victorian Age. All those meek maids, demure ladies, strict masters and fearsome governesses are just too hard to resist. Not to mention big pants put together in just the right way for ease of access.

But the 1950s could still make a late surge and finish in front. To most of us now the 1950s are beyond personal memory, but our parents remember the decade and it's one that's remembered through a nostalgic glow.
The fantasy 1950s are a simpler, better-behaved time when the fashions were elegant and the lingerie was well-constructed. And, it seems, bottom-spanking was very much part of day-to-day life.

The finishing line

It's taken two months of blood, sweat and tears but I've done it. The starting point was a question: why can't I find the sort of erotic novel that I like to read? Lots out their, but they weren't hitting the right spot.
So, I decided to write and publish one of my own. I'm a writer by profession so I was comfortable about putting the words together; it was going to be a novella, but then just growing, ending up at around 58,000 words.
What I hadn't expected was how much fun it turned out to be. I really felt connected with my sparky, spanko heroine Flick and rather miss her now she's gone.
And playing around with the historical setting was fun too. Probably because I've been watching too much 'Downton Abbey' I was stuck into a 19th Century/early 20th Century frame of mind.
As it turned out I shifted things back a few decades and made Flick's story into a homage to all that great Victorian country house erotica. You know, 'Frank & I' and that sort of thing. 
What turned out to be difficult was the publishing process. Getting to grips with new software and not being able to ask advice from friends was frustrating (they'd have wanted to know why I was asking and I'm not brave enough to be out-and-open).
Anyway, it's done. I've sent Flick out into the world. Do have a look at the sample at Amazon - I'd love to hear what you think.

Out from the shadows

I've been a lurker myself for far too long now, I know. Shame on me. It's one reason why I've decided it was time to set myself some homework - by creating this blog. And by doing more commenting elsewhere.
Having taken the plunge I'm finding it really quite exhilarating. I have so much to ay and would love some of it to be a conversation.
LOL Day seems like a great idea. I'd be thrilled if you'd take the time to comment, even if it was just to tell me to stop nagging. Anyway, I'm off to do my own commenting elsewhere.

PS No link between LOL and the image. It was just one that I feel some sort of link with.

Poor marks for history

Silence. Sit up straight at the back. Yes, I mean you. Now I've got your attention, open your history book.
If you have one. Because history teaching in the UK seems to have got seriously lost and the subject is in serious trouble.
What I remember from my time at school is lessons that were deadly dull, but at least we learned a few facts. The Romans, 1066, a Hundred Years War that didn't last 100 years and Queen Victoria as Empress of the globe's pink bits.
More recently history teaching has been squashed under a suffocating duvet of political correctness. Add in a severe attack of cultural cringe and the patient is looking terminal.
There's no Island Nation story because the curriculum hops about from one period to another and British expansionism is airbrushed out. So kids end up knowing a bit about the Romans, a fact or two about the Tudors and that Victorian children worked down mines and got whacked a lot, but have no idea which period came first.
Pupils don't learn about big events, instead they're asked to empathise with the people of the past. In practice that seems to mean that they visit a museum where someone dressed up as a Victorian schoolmarm shouts and waves a cane to convince them that 19th Century Britain was a very scary place to be (forget all the great things achieved during Victoria's reign).
It's good news that the government is taking the problem seriously enough to have a review of the way history is taught. But the heat generated by the debate doesn't suggest that things are going to get any better soon.

Queen Victoria's big pants

Passion killers. That's how the BBC breakfast bloke described Queen Victoria's silk drawers a day or two ago. She wouldn't have been amused, neither was I.
Yes, they're big and a bit plain, but it's all a matter of perspective, isn't it? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I'd say that on the right behind those drawers - or something like them - could set the pulse racing.
Something like them must have worked for Prince Albert. Didn't he and Queen V have loads of kids? And they turned out to be hot stuff at the auction in Edinburgh - somebody paid £10,000 for them.
One question though, what did Victorian men wear under their trousers? When I've been researching 19th Century women's underwear there's lots of detail, but about men's pants nothing. Is that because I'm looking in the wrong places, or did Prince Albert and his contemporaries go commando?