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. 

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.

Relaxation - and the birch

How do you read this picture? Maybe it's just that I'm suffering from debilitating spanklessness, but doesn't she look the most relaxed woman you've seen in a long time? Either about to be birched or in the process of being birched and she looks sublimely, ecstatcially relaxed. And I'm so jealous.

Since mid-December our home has been in locked down - and I've been in a state of frustration. The kids finished school and college and I knew that that was that until January 9. I had the day marked on the calendar in red.

Now it turns out that older child has dropped out of college and is hanging around the house doing 'job search'. I was livid about the decision to drop higher education, even though it should be only until October.

But in my heart of hearts I know that my anger the college decision is also about my own loss of privacy. It's so valuable and it has been taken from me.

You probably think that's a bit selfish. But I reckon spanklessness really screws you up over time if you're a genuine spankophile. It's a mental health issue that the NHS needs to look at.

If things go on here as they are I need a plan B. I may have to rent a remote holiday cottage for a weekend so that me and SO can discuss all these issues in the full and frank way that I think is so urgently required.

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.

Book Club: Frank & I

I like the idea of being a member of a book club, but from what I've seen in practice they look a little dull. Reading Booker prize shortlist novels is dreary enough without having to then dissect them with a collection of worthy lit chicks.

How much better to a member of a book club that discusses the sort of books you like to read? So I've decided to launch my own club here. Yes, there is a drawback - it's only got one member, me. But the upside of that there's little chance of a serious fall-out at meetings.

To kick things off I've chosen the 19th Century classic Frank & I. Spolier alert here - it's the story of a runaway who is taken in by a charitable English gent. At first he thinks he's a boy, but he's actually a girl.

There's a lot of corporal punishment of the MM-but-actually-MF variety. Then there's plenty more MF with a little FF thrown in for good measure. Lots of spankings, canings, birching etc, but for me it quickly gets a bit repetitive.

What I find fascinating about Frank & I is the insight it gives into the life of the wealthy Victorian landowner, or at least the author's take on that life. Charles Beaumont doesn't really have anything to do but enjoy himself and as a rich man the women around him are expected to serve up what Charley fancies whenever and wherever he fancies it.

For example, he keeps a young women called Maud in a house in London for when he's in town. Maud is less than enthusiastic about Charley's new-found interest in "the rod", but puts up with it. Charely says "I slept with her every night and in the mornings always renewed my vigour by birching her big, white bottom till it turned red as a rose, smarting pain making tears come into her eyes". Not much sense of a 50:50 relationship going on.

Mind you, by the end of things the girls do seem to have things sorted out to their own liking. Frances ('Frank') is the beautiful, accomplished mistress of her own destiny while cheerful Charley has become a bit of a sad, old loser. Serves him right, I'd say.