The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Saturday, August 31, 2013

A Movie---"Dead But Dreaming"

I received an email from a guy who identified himself only as "Jay," but what Jay had to say I thought would be of interest to all who read this blog. As some of you know, many of my stories feature judicial or institutional CP scenes. Public birchings, floggings with martinets, and other sorts of public exhibitions dot the landscape of many of the books over to your right. So it was with some interest that I read in Jay's email about a new movie recently released in the US, from a Bolivian film company.

DEAD BUT DREAMING is a vampire film. It owes some inspiration to the old Sergio Leone Italian westerns, and from the looks of the trailer, is a violent and bloody gore-fest. But that's not why I mention it here. According to Jay the movie features a public flogging scene, a long drawn out one, of a nude woman ( a pretty blonde to boot!). Thirty six lashes are administered and the scene shows them all.

Now most flogging scenes in movies like this (indie or B-films, grindhouse fare), are poorly filmed, truncated, don't show much, poor lighting, lousy cinematography and all other manner of frustrating faults. Jay assures me that is not the case with this one. He apparently had some connection to the film and knows the lead actress.

I do not have the actual scene on video. What I do have is a trailer. Here is the link:

There is also an interesting acrticle written about the film and you will find it here:

The name of the actress in question is Amy Hasketh and she has a blog that might be worth checking out.

That happens to be all the information I have for now. The film is made by a Bolivian film company named Pachamama Films and is being distributed by Vermeerworks. It is supposed to have been released yesterday, so check your local sources.

That's all for now but I'll keep you posted.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

New eBook---Tumalo Bend 1895 and Lady Jayne

Brand new release: Tumalo Bend 1895 and Lady Jayne.

I'm excited about this one. The book includes a pair of novelettes squarely in the spanking romance genre. We have a Western and a Medieval romance. The link to Amazon is HERE. The link to Barnes and Noble is HERE.

Here is the product description:

Tumalo Bend 1895 and Lady Jane are a pair of spanking romance novelettes, each over 12,000 words.
In Tumalo Bend 1895, Hank Carson has just received some distressing news. His daughters have been skipping school. As older students they have become bored with the routine and their last “hooky” incident has had them off canoodling with the local swains. Obviously a trip to the woodshed is called for.  After tending to the disagreeable disciplinary chore, Hank realizes that at their age what they really need is a tutor and governess. Enter Diana Fitzhugh, an English √©migr√© with a desire to see the West. But she finds that as tutor to the Carson girls she has her hands full. On top of that she finds herself falling for the tough old rancher. But can a lady used to the comforts of civilization be happy living on a ranch? And what about Hank’s notions of appropriate domestic discipline? For in the rugged high desert. what goes for the girls applies equally, if not more, to a wife.

 In Lady Jayne the land of Thracia is under siege. Viking raiders have taken advantage of its weakness while its men are off to war. So in stark disobedience to her father’s orders, Lady Jayne and her cousin, Lady Celia, decide to act as scouts to discover the threat posed by the raiders. The threat is real enough as the ladies learn. They are ambushed, but a pair of knights intervenes, thwarting the attack on the two women. Who were these knights? A pair of brothers, Garth and Rance Devane, on their way to see Jayne’s father, Robert DeCorday, Baron of Thracia. The brothers have been sent by King Alfred to spy on the activities of the Vikings and report back. But in the meantime, it seems that they must deal with two headstrong ladies who are not only in need of constant rescue, but require appropriate chastisement as well. Wills clash and sparks fly as the Devane brothers set about to tame both the Viking horde and the Thracian ladies.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Writing the Spanking Scene---part 7

Today I’m going to talk about point of view in writing the scene. POV is a powerful tool in creating a word picture to illustrate the spanking scene in your story.  In a spanking scene there are 3 possible points of view that matter. These are the spanker, the spankee, and a witness. If writing in the third person the author can use all three. If the observer is omniscient, however, this could lead to some rather jarring “head hopping” that gets confusing. But there is a way around that.

In The Woodmont Three, a novelette of mine, I used the POV of an “interviewer” who recorded the first person accounts of the participants. This enabled the use of multiple first person accounts including spanker, spankee and witnesses as well as the interviewer as a third person speaker.

Natalie Redding:
“Mrs Brooks said that the procedure would be that each girl would in turn, assume the position over the bench and receive 2 licks. Then she would get up and the next would take her place. On the next round it would be 3 licks; next round 3 licks again, and the final round, 2 licks. The she asked them to get into the order they wanted. Christy was first, Kim, second then Audrey. Mrs. Brooks said something like ‘let’s get started then’ and motioned for Christy to approach the bench.”

“My heart was in my throat as I stepped up to bend over to take the first spanks. I bent over and grabbed the handles in front of me. I realized that as I did, the pad in front made my rear end jut out and made my panties stretch out even more. I felt like Hoffman could see everything. It was so humiliating.”

Natalie Redding:
“Dana Brooks looked like she knew what she was doing. She adjusted her stance for the right distance, pressed the paddle against Christy’s bottom and drew back her arm like she was going to serve a tennis shot. She whipped her arm down and there was a loud splat! Christy’s bottom flattened with the impact. A second later she sort of hissed, like she was sucking in air through her teeth. Mrs. Brooks paused a few seconds and the repeated with swat number two and Christy let out an ‘ohh…ahh’ sound. I could see two red bands even under the panties.”

“Those two first swats took my breath away. I’d never felt anything like it. It was a hot burning pain. I’m afraid I let out quite a yelp. I couldn’t help it, it hurt so bad.”

Christy got up furiously rubbing her bottom and Dana Brooks motioned to Kim. She took her place at the bench, bent over and arched her bottom upwards and waited. Mrs. Brooks gave her two taps then delivered the first stroke. Kim gasped and threw her head back, gritting her teeth in pain.

“When I got those first two swats I knew I’d never felt anything like this, not even when mom spanked me with that ping pong paddle. This was so much worse.”

Last was Audrey who was shorter than the rest of the girls. She bent over and stuck her behind out, really stretching the thin material of the panties across her cheeks. Dana Brooks wasted no time and lined up the paddle then delivered a first searing crack followed by number two a few seconds later.

“I’d never been spanked before and those first two swats were like nothing I’d ever experienced. It was pure fire on my butt and I squealed. It was everything I could do to hang on.”

One at a time the girls stepped up, bent over, and took their licks. By all accounts they acquitted themselves bravely, but by the second round as each girl left the bench, their hands frantically attempted to rub the sting away before that girl had to present her bottom again for the next round. Eyes were starting to look a little red.

Natalie Redding:
“I had to feel for these girls, really I did. I knew the paddle stung dreadfully, but it looked like Mrs. Brooks was being consistent. No swats were harder than others and all the girls were getting it equally, just an old-fashioned good hard licking was what it looked like. She just laid the swats on one after another, each one making a loud crack! That really reverberated in that room. For awhile it seemed all you heard was the crack of that paddle on tender girl behinds and tearful yelping. These girls were quite well developed back there, and were able to absorb a lot. Their not so little fannies would quiver when the paddle struck and they would squirm a bit but Mrs. Brooks would wait until they became still again before she gave out the next swat. Poor Audrey was so short that she was standing on tip toe and every time she took a swat her feet would fly up behind her. It seemed like for a long time all there was in that room was the splat of that paddle, the girl’s yelp, and Dana Brooks calling ‘next’.”

Dana Brooks:
“I was trying to be firm but fair. When the paddle landed the girl’s bottom cheeks would flatten then spring back. The sound was a very loud crack! It was like a gunshot. I guess that’s what you get with a wooden paddle impacting flesh that is almost bare. Those thin panties really provided no protection. By the start of the third round I saw three girls with red faces and eyes tearing up, shifting from foot to foot and trying to rub some sting out, but no one was chickening out. When I called one, she gamely stepped up and assumed the position. Maybe I wanted to go a little easier on them at that point, but a deal is a deal. I had promised to deliver a good licking and I gave out the licks with the same force and kept to the same tempo which was about ten seconds between licks. Their bottoms were getting quite red at this point.”
(From The Schoolgirl Collection.)

If it’s a first person story, the technique isn’t possible because the speaker can’t get inside the head of any other character to describe feelings. The first person speaker is either an actor or a witness. Here’s an excerpt from A Pirate’s Tale.

I had no idea of his intentions, but clearly he was angry. He scolded me as if I were a child and that was bad enough, but what came next was worse. He took my hand and pulled me to him as he sat on his bunk. I was pulled forward until I lay face down across his thighs. He lifted my skirts in back until my drawers were exposed to his gaze. Telling me he meant to teach me a lesson in obeying a captain's orders, he commenced to spanking my bottom with the flat of his hand. I was helpless to stop him, held as I was over his knees. His rough palm smacked my bottom over and over until it stung quite atrociously. I called him a cad and a brute. He asked me if I would now obey him and I said "never". Well that was a mistake, Cecily, because he said something about making this memorable. Before I knew it his hands were at the waistband of my drawers and he had whisked them to my knees baring my bottom! I shrieked at this new outrage but he ignored me and proceeded to apply his hand most forcefully to my bared buttocks, now on such shameful display. I cannot describe how awful it felt to be spanked like a child by this man. Not the least of it was that it truly hurt. Smack after smack was applied to my burning bottom---I thought he'd never stop. I shamelessly squealed and kicked my legs but he kept on. I vowed not to cry, but under the stinging onslaught visited upon my bottom, my best intentions failed and I cried and sobbed and eventually begged for mercy.
He pulled me up and pushed me back on the bed. I was absolutely mortified because surely the crew had heard the whole thing, the smacking of his hand and my childish cries. Ohh, how I hate him!!
(From The Romance of Spanking, Vol. 2)

Of course the first person speaker can be the spanker as well, as this excerpt from the novel Atonement illustrates:
Wendy was waiting for me back at the camp. Will and Jim had left to return Elaine to her father. With the Lynne incident and my encounter with "Bob", not to mention the disappearance of "Cathy Riggs" and Elaine from the commune, I felt it was time to go. As soon as the initiation ceremony was finished, the cult leaders would tumble to the fact that something was going on. They might even start searching the woods. So we packed up what was left and got out.

It was a hard trip down the mountain in the dark loaded with gear, but we got to the van and took off. I suggested we go North toward Winchester. I wanted to get out of Pendleton County as soon as possible. There was I was sure, an unholy alliance between the church and the sheriff's office there.

Exhaustion set in near the Virginia border. I figured we were far enough away that they wouldn't find us, so Wendy and I crashed at a motel. When we awoke it was nearly dark again. We'd slept all day. We were both starved, so we went out to eat. We found a respectable looking diner and ordered some food. Then Wendy, who'd been quiet, finally piped up.

"You know, I've never seen anything like what we just saw the last few days. I'm ashamed to admit it, but watching it was a turn on for me."

I told her she wasn't alone, and that I'd known a few women who found spankings and related activity quite arousing.

"And just how well did you know these women?" she said, arching her brows.

I had previously told her about Jane, so I had to admit that with some of them it had "gotten Biblical".

"So you're quite experienced in this area," she mused, toying with her food.

"I've been around a little," I admitted.

"Well I must say that it sounded like more than 'a little' with what's-her-name yesterday when you played father confessor."

Uh-oh, I had left the mic on. She must have heard the whole thing. "I uh, had to play along, you know. That's the first rule--look and act like you belong." I knew how this spy business worked.

"Mmmm. Of course. That's it. You had to play along," she said smugly. Then she switched gears. Eyeing me curiously she said, "Let's go back to our room. I want to see something."

I shrugged, "Ok, let's go," wondering what she had in mind. But I had a pretty good idea. We had been in close quarters the last few days and were both aware that some chemistry had developed between us. The light banter had turned to flirting and it was starting to look like the flirting was turning to...yeah.

When we got back to the room, she closed the door and turned on the TV. Then she faced me. "So what does it feel like?" she asked in a husky voice. She was rubbing her hands up and down her pants legs. Watching all the flagellatory activity on the monitors would have made Saint Therese's panties moist. Even if you're not into it, there is something atavistically sexual about a bare bottom whipping.

"What does what feel like?" I said.

"You know," she whispered with a coy smile. "A spanking. Like you gave to that girl Lynne?"

Now it was my turn to grin. "Do you want to find out?"

"Maybe. I don't know. It looked sexy. Nobody ever spanked me when I was a kid."

"Well," I said, sitting on the bed, "only one way to find out. Come over here."

She was breathing heavily, excited. "Not too hard, ok? I just want to see what it's like." I crooked my finger and patted my thighs. She gingerly laid over my lap, her jeans-clad bottom jutting up. I patted her bottom. "Before we get started, don't you have anything to atone for?" I said in my mock stentorian voice.

She giggled, "I did show Billy Smithson my panties for a quarter in third grade."

"Shocking!" I said, and gave her delightful rear a resounding smack! "Imagine--raising your dress and showing off your panties to a boy. This correction is long overdue." Smack! Another solid swat.

"Oooh," she said.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! I gave her four swats quickly on alternating cheeks.

"Hmmm...that actually feels nice."

I said nothing but proceeded to smack her bottom with measured, deliberate smacks, not too fast, stopping frequently to rub it in. She practically purred at this treatment at first, then the sting started to build up.

"Ohh...ow...mmm...ahh," she uttered, moving her hips around on my lap. I stopped after about fourty cracks. My hand was getting the worst of it. Time to up the ante.

"Ok, stand up," I commanded.

"Are we done?" She sounded disappointed.

"Not by a long shot. Your pants are coming down. I'm wearing my hand out on the seat of these jeans."

"Take down my pants?" she asked breathlessly.

"Down your knees, Wendy. You want to know what a spanking is like--this is the way to find out."

"But you'll see my bare hiney," she protested.

"Yeah. Just like Billy Smithson," I shot back. I could see that she was
playing, excited by the prospect.

She thought for a moment, then slowly peeled down her jeans. Then she took them off completely and tossed them over on the bed. She looked positively delicious standing there in a tank top that ended above her navel and sheer french cut panties along with an especially youthful touch, white knee socks.

"Back over again, Wendy," I said with a grin. She laid over my left thigh, her upper body on the bed. I put my right leg over the backs of her calves and pushed down on the small of her back making her bottom arch up over my left thigh. Her curvy fanny was perfectly positioned for a good spanking. The cheeks were fully exposed as her panties had pulled up into the deep cleft separating the twin moons leaving her all but bare. "Ok, Wendy, ready? Here we go--now this is a spanking."

I rubbed my palm in wide circles on her bottom feeling the quivery flesh. Then smack! Smack! Crack! I brought my hand down in a series medium hard smacks right on the cheeky crowns of her bottom globes. Her fanny rippled delightfully as I spanked her with crisp cracks of my palm that had her squirming a bit and making little "ooh" and "ahhh" sounds. This went on for 100 smacks or so. Then I stopped and rubbed her ass sensuously, kneading the pinkened mounds. She was breathing heavily and shivered as my fingers slid gently along the gusset of her panties between her legs. "Oh, yessss," she hissed. I slid a finger through the elastic of a leg band into the moist warmth of her pussy.

"Oh, Rollin, yes...mmmm," she moaned.

"Lift up," I said. She lifted up and I yanked her panties down to her knees. "Are you prepared for atonement, my child?" I asked mockingly.

"Oh, yes Father Rollin, punish me as I deserve." We both giggled.

"Ok," I said plainly. Then I gave her a spanking she'd remember. I clamped my leg hard over hers and proceeded to baste her little backside good and proper. She bucked and squealed but did not try to escape as the smacks rained down turning her bottom a fiery red. I tanned her backside for three or four minutes without respite.

"Oh, ow, ow,ow...this hurts...oh, God, it stings. Wow, ahhh...ahh." She carried on as I smacked her jiggling ass relentlessly. I figured she'd asked for the authentic experience, so I was going to give it to her. She bucked up and down and wriggled her fanny.

She'd had enough. I slowed the pace down, this time interspersing the smacks with a lot of rubbing. Her moans changed to whimpers of arousal.

"Nhhh...oh...yessss." She writhed in pleasure as I manipulated her. When I felt her response to be that of approaching climax I started smacking her bottom again. Crisp slow open-handed cracks. I punctuated these with a mock lecture.

"Will you act like a lady now?" Smack! "Will you show your panties to boys?" Smack! Crack!

"Oh...oh...nhhh," she responded. When I sensed she'd reached her limit of tolerance, I stopped and lifted her to her feet. As she stood her in front of me, I continued to rub her pussy while her hands found her flaming ass cheeks and began to rub. I sat back to enjoy the sight of little miss Wendy trying to ease the sting in her delectable derriere.

She stopped rubbing and gave me a look that was nothing but lust. Then, she jumped on me, knocking me back on the bed. Grabbing the back of my neck she pulled my mouth to hers and kissed me passionately. Before I could even react she was at me like a wild woman. She yanked my clothes off and when had me naked and on my back, she straddled me, impaling herself on my upright and very stiff cock. Then she rode me, blissfully moaning as she pinched her own nipples through the fabric of her tank top. Not satisfied she tore it off, revealing very nicely shaped breasts. She was bucking up and down and arching forward, trying to scrape her clitoris against my shaft. The furious fucking couldn't last. She stiffened in climax and came, jerking around like a woman possessed.

The next time we did it a lot slower. Me on top, she kneeling with me taking her from behind, like spoons--we tried a bunch of 'em. It was two hours before we were back on the road. As Wendy slept I had a chance to think of my next move.

We see the whole thing through the spanker's eyes here and get some idea of his attitudes and feelings, as well as a visual picture from *ahem* above the action. So that’s first person POV and its variants. Next time, more on third person accounts of the spanking scene.

Saturday, August 10, 2013

New Covers

If you look to the panels on the right you'll see that I have changed a lot of my covers. I'm slowly retiring the covers with Paula Russell's excellent drawings and making new ones with stock photos or internet finds. Why? Because Amazon has a thing called an "adult tag" that hides your book from the search engine in the general category on Amazon's site. The main culprit appears to be overt nudity, so to remove this boat anchor, I'm having to tone things down. So tell me what you think. Do you like the new covers? Or would you rather have Paula Russell. Personally, I'd rather have Paula's.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Writing the spanking scene---part 6, P.N. Dedeaux

Before I start today, I'd like to give a big thank you to Devlin O'Neill and his blog for his super nice review of THE PURITAN MUSEUM. Devlin, in case you've been on Mars for the last 10 years or so, is one of the premier spanking fiction writers in the world.

Now on to business.

This time we’ll take a look at Mr. PN Dedeaux. Mr. Dedeaux by all accounts is no longer with us, but he wrote some of the most memorable, and some say the most severe, flagellation novels ever. In fact he glorifies flagellation, practically wallowing in it. As you might expect he writes a spanking scene with great focus and attention to detail. This particular novel is called “In the Territory” and describes the introduction of a young woman named Joanna to the unique society in which her sister lives. It is a male authoritarian society in which the women are routinly punished for each and every fault imaginable. Dedeaux’s love is the cane, although there is a birching scene and I know that in one version of this novel there was a paddling with a sorority paddle. There are no erotic hand spankings in a Dedeaux novel. Oh no. It’s full on six or eight or twelve strokes with a whippy cane that leave big red welts, weals and ridges, and if you mess up you’ll get it again tomorrow. The conceit here is that such a terrifying atmosphere leads to great sex, and the women of the Territory accept it as long as it keeps erections stiff and husbands randy.

In this first passage Joanna overhears her sister being summoned by her husband for punishment. We don’t actually see it happen, but we see what it could be through Joanna’s imagination. It’s a very effective POV technique.

     “Mummy's going to,” said the girl softly, looking very directly at Joanna.      She shut the book. Awkwardly, in a hushed voice, she asked, “By 'it' you mean...?”    
 “A thrashing with the cane.”      
“How...can you be so sure?”     
 “I know. Listen.”      
The silence seemed to last forever. Suddenly it was broken by the sound of brusquely drawn curtains. But this whirring of air, this beating of big wings, was completed by the same snapping of the dry twig she had heard upstairs her third day, and it struck into her soul now as it had then.     
 “One,” said the girl staring at her steadily.      Thwhhlcck!     
 “Two.”      Joanna groaned and sat back, closing her eyes. She heard what she knew she heard—bare female flesh cut into four, five, six times by hard whippy wood. There was a lava inside her. She felt herself tottering. After a long pause there were two more sharp strokes, a stifled cry, a man's placid growl. She realized that in some manner she seemed to be practically sitting on Pamela's right hand which had insinuated itself under her, under her skirt hiked against crushing...she stood up hotly.      
Alec Reddick came along, whistling. “All ready? Let's go.”     
 He led the way out to the car. At the turn by the stairs Joanna nearly bumped into Cynthia and gasped. It was one thing to see a teenager like Pam in the extremities of corporal correction; it was another to see a grown woman, her hands clasped under her skirt behind, gasping with twisted face, half-doubled.      
“Bad luck, Mumsie!” said the girl.   

There are of course numerous incidents involving the citizens of the Territory and the tension mounts as to when Joanna is going to get it. Finally, she actually volunteers, confessing to a fault that got her sister in trouble.   

     “You are about to be beaten for being late. Do you have anything to say?”     
 “No, sir.”'     
 “Do you wish to appeal?”      
She gave her ritual answers fatally, from her depths.  The sense of ceremony was exact as he bent his head and again inscribed her punishment in his book.     
 “Very well. You will receive six strokes with the cane. Go through and I'll deal with you in a minute.”      
As if some burden had been lifted from her, in a total surrender of her will, she walked to the far end of the room, where there was a door, which she opened, closing it behind her. It gave onto a large, bare expanse of polished wood, resembling a small gymnasium—in fact, Alec used it as a keep-fit room There were bars, a leather horse, stools and weights, but chiefly her eyes were drawn to the impedimenta hanging on the walls, the straps, well oiled and used-looking, and the rack of canes, one above the other. Chiefly, also, her eyes were held to the short, hip-high structure riveted to the flooring by one wall. That'll keep you nice and tight, she told herself grimly. She was already quivering all over, and perspiring.      It was very simple really, resembling some iron towel rack or suchlike. Cynthia had explained it perfectly. The top bar, adjustable, was about on the level of your, well, your lap and you duly bent over it; not before, however, you had stepped between the two ankle-level bars at the bottom. One of these could be opened and closed like a gate and made it impossible to kick back, or forward for that matter! So standing, two further simple bars pressed horizontally at the front of the legs, one at the shins beneath the knees, one at the thighs above them. The culprit's legs were braced ineluctably back, tight. So long as she was holding onto the lower bar in front with her hands she could not reasonably move her parted, tightened ass.      
“Shoes off,” said a voice. Alec had come in. She shucked them, seeing with a sudden flutter that he had donned tennis sneaks and rolled his right sleeve up high. He went to a wall, selected his instrument, swished it through the air a couple of times, and came forward thoughtfully.      Just like a doctor, she told herself, feeling with sudden panic a desire to pee. She thought of the Gladiator's story, what would happen if she...the sensation increased dreadfully....      “Stand there,” he said, pointing with the cane-tip, “and take down your clothes. Right down, if you please. Now bend over and grip the lower bar.”     He did not seem surprised that she knew how to do so at once, but he spent some time positioning her to his satisfaction.   “Get a really good hold of it. I think you know it's two extra every time you leave go of the bar.”
     “Yes, sir. Thank you.”      
“Three if you rise before Permission.”      His thumb prodded her inspectively. Bent as she was, she felt all buttock. The bars did not merely brace back her knees, they seemed to bend her legs in a bow so that all her weight fell forward, on her hands in front. Her cunt pouched back at the division of her legs and hips, but Cynthia said the cane never hit in there, at least not hard. The hips were always sufficiently curved enough to...she stared miserably at the puerile wrinkles in her panties at her ankles. Would Alec be able to see the sodden patch in their center?      
“Head down.”      Ah yes, to draw the flesh up fully at her seat.      The cold cane touched her, measuring.      
“This is Canadian acajou. Whippy, but not too.”      After tucking her sweater needlessly high, he turned and went from her—perhaps to get some other frightful thing, she thought, when with a thudding rush he bounded athletically at her and into her. The limb stirred the air with a breathless whirr, a strangely peevish sound, and the cane thrashed full across her seat with its now characteristic rap. Her head came back at the shock, but she thought, I can take it. Then the true wave flamed up her skin. She contrived a grunting pant.      Whrrrr-upp!      The second whipped into her after a pause. It was agony. The tip seemed to burrow and she felt herself give an instinctive buttocky wriggle to throw it off. Two.      Hold on, she told herself desperately, hold on.      She did so until the fourth had splatted powerfully, with a ringing echo, round her hips. She tried to stamp, emitted a short, shaming fart. Alec stood behind her calmly. It was like being struck by the sun.     
“Relax,” he said. “It'll hurt you less that way. You're trying to fight it.”      
“I'm s-sorry....I've never been caned like this...before.”      
“Always co-operate with the cane.” His fingertips touched her scorching weals. “I'm going to give you these last two hard. Concentrate on your posture, please.”      There was that savage swaying in the air again and a fiery razor sliced across her skin—Phhhrr-ruppp!     
 “Ow!” she cried.      The last followed crisply on top of it.      
“Don't get up until I tell you.”
     It was the hardest thing Joanna had ever done. The pain became an unspeakable flame, drenching her impossibly. She hung over, mouth open, drooling.      “Ooooh... auuuuu... aaaaah!”    
  “All right.”      She arched erect, hissing, clutching her buttocks and, feet still fettered in the system of bars, sat down heavily on the floor behind her, on her hands. She looked up at him miserably, beaten, fearful, her cunt lips shimmering as if in the heat waves from her tortured flesh. She saw him reflectively stroke the ascending chord at the center of his being and then he ordered, “Get up and put your clothes on. Let that be a lesson to you.”    

Yeouch! Dedeaux doesn’t fool around. This is punishment, hard and brutal. And that’s not all. There is figging, anal sex, the works. The way he writes is blow-by-blow, almost. With a defined caning that consists of a set number of strokes, a writer can do this without being boring or repetitious. Why? Because a good writer can turn each stroke into an event--the thoughts of the spankee, what she hears and feels, her emotional state. One or more of these can be described with every stroke. Notice here the POV focus is on Joanna---what she thinks and feels. Alec, we don’t know. He’s just an implacable force. It’s very effective.

I’m generally not this severe because I’m more into loving correction, but each to his own taste and in his day Dedeaux had his ardent followers. He did not write much. There are maybe 4 or 5 other works, but they are all of equal intensity—hard, severe, and uncompromising.